


Chaos Is A Butterfly

by thepostmodernpottercompendium (TobermorianSass)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 35,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobermorianSass/pseuds/thepostmodernpottercompendium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is simple, after the war. Nothing changes, not very much, after the war is over. The slightest pull and the threads that have held their fragile peace together for so long will all unravel. </p><p>In Azkaban, a Death Eater prepares to set the wizarding world on fire.</p><p>It all starts with one man picking up his quill to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Fic originally posted on thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com

From:  _the_ _closing statements of Caius Rookwood’s proposal concerning the direction of future research in the Department of Mysteries._ _  
_

… and there are some corners of the world, few and far between, where they dream of magic not as a precious gift, given to a chosen few, but a wild and untameable force wandering  and choosing at will. There is nothing unexceptionable about the ones who are chosen to bear this force. They are weak, they are strong, men, women, children - there is no rhyme or reason to their choosing.

They simply  _are_.

Those who would seek to set themselves above their fellow men because they were chosen to be mere vessels for this greater force, are torn down immediately and punished for their presumption.

In these corners of the world, all men and women are equal; are only vessels. It is only this force which matters. All they can do is learn how to carry it best - some with wands, some with ritual, some with the sheer power of will.

There is some inkling of truth to this primitive belief, as there is with all primitive beliefs. It certainly serves to explain why magic is so unevenly distributed within a populace, and why we should have remained the subservient race even when though we have far more power.  Loath as i am to admit it there seems to be a certain amount of truth to this myth in the same way that all the mythology of the savage mind has an element of truth to it, albeit expressed in a superstitious fashion and almost certainly arrived at by accident, given the information several of my esteemed colleagues and I have gathered through our readings and our tests on the mechanics of magic. 

I suggest, given the wealth and diversity of myths we have on the subject and from ongoing research in this department, that our current understanding of the mechanics of magic is flawed, and has been shaped by the stories we have been fed as children, stories which we, as grown men, call history, and painfully inscribe in books, claiming they are objective truth when there is little to no actual evidence to indicate that they are in any way accurate representations of reality. If we deplore superstition among the savage and primitive peoples of this world, then it must follow that we must seek to eliminate those superstitions which have worked their way into our thinking over centuries of repetitive and trite scholarship.

It is time we abandoned our dusty libraries and ancient histories, stories we have told ourselves over and over again until we have successfully obscured the truth and all chances of learning the truth. It is time for us to stop reproducing knowledge in endless circles and moreover, to cease this reliance on old and outdated texts for information about our areas of study. It is time we abandoned our antiquated methods of learning and study in favour of something new.

Perhaps it is time we looked to the muggles.

As matters stand, we run the very grave risk of making ourselves obsolete old fossils, languishing in the memories of a glorious past while our grand houses fall to decay. While we have locked ourselves away from their world, and have grown careless in our self-assured superiority, the muggles have been striving to compensate for their lack of knowledge and are presumably, at a point in their civilization where they may even claim to rival us in their standard of living.

I move that we, at the Department of Mysteries, supposedly at the very head of all knowledge being produced in the magical Britain at this time, put aside our petty pride in our superiority at possessing the ability to use magic, and instead make use of our muggle counterparts’ knowledge to attain a more complete understanding of that which sets us apart – our ability to use magic. If we are to remain assured in our superiority, to remain  _relevant_ in this world, then it is time we use our dusty tomes only to inform us about the past - not to shape and restrict how we view the present and the future.

It is in the future, after all, that we will find a truth untouched by politics and petty squabbling, not in the past.

Unspeakable Caius Rookwood,  
 _5 th December 1968._

_Addendum: Caius Rookwood was murdered three weeks after the date inscribed on this collection of papers. According to the reports in The Daily Prophet, Caius Rookwood was murdered by muggle tramps and it was this death which was widely acknowledged to have been the impetus the then underground terrorist group the Knights of Walpurgis (now popularly known as the Death Eaters) needed to swing pureblood opinion in their favour._

_Not a word of this, of course, was true._

A. R.


	2. The last effects of Caius Rookwood

_Form 52 Section (b): Request for reading material, high security prisoner._

**Prisoner No**.: R080421

**Requested material** : last effects of Ministry Employee Caius Rookwood.

**Status** : Granted.

Approved by  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

**Date** : 21/6/2011

**Completed** : 11/7/2011

**Cleared by:**  
[sign]  
Auror Harry Potter  
Head of the Auror Office

**Notes:** _waste of our bloody time_ and  _of_ _our associates with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, United States of America. Ministry needs to sort out its priorities - A.S.  
Auror Smith advised to read “The Qualities of Mercy” speech from The Merchant of Venice, on the counsel of Permanent Private Undersecretary Granger-Weasley from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Disappointed to find out that Auror Smith has not heard of The Bard. Recommend compulsory NEWT in Muggle Studies as a qualification for Auror office. - H.P._

~~~~

_Form 67 Section (f): Outgoing packages Azkaban, Subsection (C.I.iii.): request clearance for outgoing package, high security prisoner._

**Prisoner No.:**  R080421

**Contents:**

1) letter addressed to a John Hope, reproduced below - 

 

> _Dear John,_
> 
> _Its been a long time. I trust you have been well._
> 
> _I’ve found some reading material I think you & your _ **friend** _might find interesting; a proposal for future research in the Department of Mysteries, written by my father, declassified under Section 394 of the Ministry Security Classifications Policy (1997)_.
> 
> _Yours truly,  
>  A.R._
> 
> _Encl: the last effects of ministry employee Caius Rookwood._

2) The last papers of Caius Rookwood (ref: Form 52 section (b) dated 21/06/2011)

**Status** : Cleared

**Date:** 31/03/2014

Approved by  
[sign]  
Ronald Weasley,  
Deputy Head of the Auror Office.

**Notes:** _Merlin’s balls, we jumped through_ hoops  _to move the Americans to retrieve those papers from San Francisco and now he wants to send them off? Bloody hell. - R.W._

_Copy to Auror Potter._

_Ron, you bloody twat! Don’t you study the law? There is no bloody Section 394 for declassified information! - H.P._

~~~~

Harry why is there an evening edition of The Daily Prophet and why are you on the front page?   
\- Hermione.

From:  _Special Evening Edition of The Daily Prophet_  dated 31/07/2014 _._

 

**FIFTY YEAR OLD MURDER CASE REOPENED FOR INVESTIGATION  
Auror Potter calls for re-investigation of the murder of Caius Rookwood**

_By a staff reporter  
London_

In a press conference at the Ministry today at 3pm, open only to select members of the press, Head of the Auror Office, Harry Potter, publicly stated he would be reopening investigations into the murder of former Ministry employee Caius Rookwood, citing new information that may shed light on what was previously thought to be an open and shut case. 

Auror Potter has not specified what this new information is, but has assured the public that this information is from a credible source and will form the basis for further investigation into the murder. According to Mr Potter, some of the facts originally presented to the public were the result of political obfuscation on the part of a few interested parties, suggesting that Caius Rookwood’s murder was not an accident.

Ministry employee Unspeakable Caius Rookwood was found murdered in his private quarters on the 28th of December, 1968. Auror reports filed at the time reported the cause of death to be a failed attempt at a break-in by two muggle tramps. Upon discovery by Mr Rookwood, a struggle ensued which resulted in Rookwood being stabbed several times and then to be gruesomely ripped open from throat to hip. The Rookwood home, at the time, was found to have had no security measures or wards put up to shield the home from accidental discovery by muggles - other than a few odd glamours and Confundus charms.

Caius Rookwood had been working for the Department of Mysteries for nearly forty years at the time and had been in line for a promotion which would have made him head of the department. Charles Nott, a fellow Unspeakable at the time, lamented his death in a public statement to the press reproduced from  _The Daily Prophet_ archives:

> _Caius Rookwood was - and still is - irreplaceable. His death has come as a shock to all of us at the Department and he will always be remembered for his groundbreaking contributions to ongoing research taking place in this department, his sardonic wit and his acute intelligence. It is tragic that this unfortunate event took place when it did, my colleagues and I are agreed that under Caius, the Department would have thrived and ushered in a new and glorious era of research into the various principles of magic. Yet even as we mourn this tragedy, we wish to remind the wizarding public that the Statute of Secrecy is there for the protection of wizardingkind and that flagrant violations of the Statute will inevitably lead to tragic results, such as the death of Caius Rookwood._

Later commentators agreed that it was the murder of Caius Rookwood which gave the then underground terrorist group, the Knights of Walpurgis (later known as the Death Eaters), a rallying point around which to gather several notable pureblood families. 

However, if Auror Potter’s investigations can conclusively prove that Caius Rookwood’s death was not the result of a failed break-in, and that his murder had been carefully planned out beforehand, much of what we know about the first war could be considerably changed.

 


	3. Myths of Magical Europe

**Of the breaking of the world and the coming of magic into the world** _\- a myth of the Romans and Greeks with some Celtic influences._

FromMyths of Magical Europe ed. Quaxo Coricopat, Authors Unknown, Year Unknown.

In the beginning, before time began, the First Man and the Sorceress lived together in a cave at the heart of the world. A homely cave it was, warm and welcoming, not too large and not too small. A fire always burnt in the centre of the cave, day and night, warning any who might look upon them with unfriendly thoughts that those who came seeking to harm and destroy would suffer and burn. Welcoming those who sought shelter from the harshness of the world.

In those days, the world was smaller and volatile and the friendly wild creatures of the world would come crawling to the cave, seeking refuge from the winds and storms which would rise up from nowhere and tear through the world. In those days, the Sorceress wove magic around these wild creatures who came to her and bid them stay and tamed them and put them to work. The Horse, the Dog, the Cow - all of these she tamed while the First Man slept and hunted; but that is another story which is better told [elsewhere](http://www.boop.org/jan/justso/cat.htm) by others more skilled at telling these tales.

For while the First Man hunted with the Horse and Dog and kept house with the Sorceress, all was well. Together they bore a child, a son and he grew swiftly to be a strong, strapping lad. Strong of limb and fleet of foot as his father was.

In those days, Man was ageless and death could not touch him or his son. None knows how many ages passed between the coming of the First Man and the coming of death, war and treachery into the world. Suffice it to say, in the time that passed many new creatures of strange and curious shapes came into the world - strange and wonderful they were, some large, some small, some half and half, some whole. Some the Sorceress tamed and kept for her own, some she let run wild, naming them and keeping them - for one day her son might have need of them and she would have to weave the magic to summon them to her son’s side.

One day, the First Man brought home with him a new creature - like the Sorceress in form and beauty, but with no magic she could weave, like the First Man. The First Woman, he named her and bid her stay with them, share their food and share their cave with them. The Sorceress bowed her head and quietly accepted, for why she should deny a home and sustenance to one of the friendly creatures of the world?

Ah, but if only the tale ended there, the world should have been a very different place. For with the passing of time the First Woman bore the First Man a son. And one son too might have been of no consequence, but then there was a daughter, then another, and then one son after another. One after the other they came, until the Sorceress wondered if she should close the First Woman’s womb - else one of them would be forced into the wild world.

Then came the Great Cold and the First Man bid the First Woman and the Sorceress come to him.

“One of you must leave,” he said, “for we must shut the doors of this cave to keep the cold out and I cannot do so while so many live here.”

Oh but the First Woman was cunning. She fell to her knees and wept and begged. Her children were still unweaned, she sobbed, how could she leave them and take her three eldest with her? Who would feed them in her stead? Did not a child need its mother?

But the Sorceress was proud and said nothing, though she saw with second sight and the world was darkened in her eyes. She warned the First Woman that the price for her staying behind would be very high.

“There is naught you can take from me,” she replied with the arrogance of one who believes the battle won.

For two days and one night the Sorceress sat in a dark corner of the cave and thought to herself. It was time.

On the second night she wove a new magic - the first of a new kind, for it did not give life or refuge, but deceived and endangered - and summoned the strange and new creatures of the world to her.

“Will you serve my son?” she asked them.

“We will serve him if he does not hunt us, if he protects us from the First Man when he comes after us with the weapons which sting and the weapons which bite,” they answered together.

“He will not,” she said, “You have my word,” and she finished weaving her new spell and when she was finished, the creatures which had come to her could now comprehend the tongues of men, forever binding them to the the Sorceress and her son. Light magic she bestowed upon them, such that would protect them against the biting weapons and the stinging weapons of the First Man and would give them the strength to help her son.

Next she summoned her son to her and bid him sit by her.

“It is time,” she said, “for the second weaving of the new magic.”

A second magic she wove, a brewing magic, and in that she brewed the future storms of the world, setting war and conquest and revenge into it, pouring half her power into it and when it was finished, she offered it to her son in a golden cup.

“Drink it and you will have power to stand against the cold. Drink it and you will never be weak again. Drink it and all these creatures before you will serve you. Drink it and you will be like me, a weaver of magic and ruler of the world.”

Her son did not fumble or pause, but raised the cup to his lips and drank silently from it.

Then she arose from her corner and approached the First Man and First Woman, seated by the fire.

“Are you still so resolved?” she asked the First Woman.

“Take your price then,” said the First Woman, “I have naught to give.”

Then the Sorceress drew herself up to her full height, great and terrible was she to all who beheld her in that hour, dark and fearsome and powerful and the First Man and his First Woman cowered where they were seated. This was the third weaving of the new magic.

“Foolish woman,” she said and then spoke three curses, “Life, you will have - but it will be bitter and tinged with grief, for once the cold is passed death will come to you and your kind. Warmth, will you have, and weakness too, you who seek to be untouched by the cold of this world. A safe refuge and haven you will have, but be warned, for my son will never forget it was you who cast him out into the cold. Know this, foolish woman! With your selfishness you have saved your children for war, treachery and death. So it is said, so it shall be done.”

When she had finished speaking, the earth shook and a chill wind that seeped into their bones and froze their marrow swept through the cave extinguishing the fire which had always burnt in the heart of the cave. Cold it crept through their veins, slowly draining the warm life that coursed through them. But the Sorceress’ son stood tall and proud, for the warmth of life that had been so drained from the First Man and First Woman and their children still ran strong in him.

And in that hour he rose his hand and spoke and commanded that fire be brought forth, for his heart was darkened when he saw that the fire he had known and loved had gone out, and it came about that there was fire because he spoke. Pity stirred his heart as he looked upon his father and his brothers and sisters and the fire he gave to the First Man, his father, and the First Woman, his not-mother to keep, to warm them through the Great Cold.

“In better times I will not be as merciful,” he warned them and with that he and his mother departed from the cave at the heart of the world, into the Great Cold.

So it was and so it ever shall be that the children of the First Woman fear the sons and daughters of the Sorceress; that the children of the Sorceress despise those who cannot work magic with their words; that each should fight each other; that the strange and wonderful creatures of this world should be bound to the children of the Sorceress.

So it was that the world was broken and death, trickery and magic entered the world.

 _Addendum: Reproduced from the private papers (1966) of deceased Ministry employee, Unspeakable Caius Marcus Rookwood. All known copies of the book_ Myths of Magical Europe  _were confiscated and locked up in the classified area of the Department of Mysteries in 1964. No copies are available to the public on the grounds that it contains highly incitatory material. - A.R._

* * *

Memos dispatched between the Head of the Auror Office and the Office of the Permanent Private Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
 **Dispatched:** 8:15 - 8:30 PM, 31st July 2014  
 **Status:** Private

Hermione, what do you know of the book Myths of Magical Europe ed. Quaxo Coricopat?   
- Harry

Only that it was banned from the public under Section 247 of the Hate Speech Prevention Act, on grounds that it contained incitatory material which could be used to rouse pureblood/wizarding hatred against muggles. Why?  
\- Hermione

Oh, no reason in particular. Have you read it yourself?  
\- Harry

Don’t be ridiculous. It was banned.  
\- Hermione.

Would you like to break some rules?  
\- Harry

Harry, NO!  
\- Hermione  
P.S. What’s all this about reopening investigations into the murder of Caius Rookwood? The trail’s going to be cold!

I have a hunch or two Hermione, that’s all. Hang on, d’you think Neville or his grandmum would have a copy of the book?   
\- Harry

I don’t know. Ask Neville. You’ve been talking to Rookwood again haven’t you?   
\- Hermione

I refuse to answer that.  
\- Harry.

Harry, he was a Death Eater! There was nothing you could have done.  
- Hermione

I just have a really strong feeling about this.   
- Harry.

What does the murder of Caius Rookwood have to do with a book that’s been banned for containing incitatory material?  
\- Hermione

I was hoping you’d tell me. Ministry canteen, 5 minutes. See you. Bring Ron.  
\- Harry.

* * *

Neville,

D’you or your grandmum happen to have a copy of  _Myths of Magical Europe_ , ed. Quaxo Coricopat (year unknown)?

Harry.

 

Harry,

Do you  _have_ to send owls out in the middle of the night? For Merlin’s sake, can’t you work decent hours?

And no, I’ve never even  _heard_ of the book, how could I possibly have a copy of it? I’ve passed your message on to grandmum.

Neville

Dear Gran,

I hope you are doing well.

Would you happen to have a copy of  _Myths of Magical Europe_ by Quaxo Coricopat? Harry seems to want a copy of it.

Your loving grandson,

Neville Longbottom.

 

Dear Neville,

I am quite well, thank you for your concern, never felt a day younger in my life.

I find it heartening that you are finally taking my advice to heart and beginning your day early instead of keeping all hours and then sleeping in, waking up at the most absurd hours. I was most pleased to receive your owl at six today morning and hope this is a sign that you are putting away your youthful, wayward ways and have finally grown up sufficiently to fit the shoes you are currently filling at Hogwarts.

Concerning the book, I am surprised you should ask me for this, knowing as you ought, that this book was banned in 1964. However, since you seem to be showing signs of turning over a new-leaf, I am happy to be of help, though I am afraid the news I have will disappoint your friend Mr Potter. Your grandfather purchased a copy of this book in 1947, however, this was seized from us during the despicable Ministry raids of 1968.  _How_ they thought confiscating books was going to stop those ridiculous men from butchering people is  _beyond_ me but the Ministry has never shown a remote sign of good sense in any of their actions. If Mr Potter urgently requires that he get a copy of this book, I strongly advise you to tell him to contact one of the pureblood families notorious for flaunting Ministry rules.

Yours truly,  
Augusta Longbottom.

Harry,

Apparently we used to have a copy of the book but it was confiscated in 1968. Gran suggests you “ _contact one of the pureblood families notorious for flaunting Ministry rules_.”

Sorry!

Neville.

* * *

Malfoy,

We need your help. Meeting at the Auror Office, 5 p.m. sharp tomorrow. Bring your copy of  _Myths of Magical Europe._

Head of the Auror Office,  
Harry Potter.

 

What’s the matter, Potter? Can’t clean up your own mess?

Who says I own a copy of  _Myths of Magical Europe?_

Draco Malfoy.

 

Malfoy,

See above.

Head of the Auror Office,  
Harry Potter

 

Touche.

Draco Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this is not actually influenced by any Roman, Greek or Celtic myths.


	4. Saving the world

Memos between the Office of Permanent Private Undersecretary, Deparment of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of the Auror Office  
 **Dispatched between:** 8 A.M. - 8: 11 A.M. 1st of August 2014  
 **Status:** Private

Harry, will you kindly tell me or Ron what the hell you’re doing?  
\- Hermione

You know me, Hermione. Averting an international crisis/scandal.  Saving the world. The usual.  
\- Harry


	5. The virtues of being intellectually inclined

Memos between the Auror Office and  the Office of Permanent Private Undersecretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  
 **Dispatched between:** 5 P.M - 8 P.M. 31st of July 2014.  
 **Status:** Confidential

Hermione, could you take a dekko at this and let me know what you think?  
\- Harry  
Enclosed: Copy of Ministry form 67 Section (f): Outgoing packages Azkaban, Subsection (C.I.iii.): request clearance for outgoing package, high security prisoner - R080421

Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.  
\- Hermione

~~~~

Memos between the Office of Permanent Private Undersecretary, Deparment of Magical Law Enforcement  
 **Dispatched between:** 8 P.M. - 8: 11 P.M. 31st of July 2014  
 **Status:** Private

THREE MONTHS RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY? THREE MONTHS AND YOU NEVER SAID A WORD ABOUT THIS? ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS COULD MEAN? THIS IS WHY YOU ALWAYS,  **ALWAYS**  SEND COPIES OF HIGH SECURITY PRISONER FORMS TO ME!   
\- Hermione

Bloody hell Hermione! I’m a bloody Auror not an expert on Magical Law, how the hell was I supposed to know there’s no such thing as Section 394 or a Ministry Security Classifications Policy? Those were boring papers on something about how magic works - no need to get your knickers all in a twist.  
\- Ron

Hermione?  
- Ron

Canteen. Now.  
- Hermione

* * *

Form 84 Section B Subsection C.I.iii: Request visit for high security prisoner  
 **Prisoner:** R080421  
 **Visitor:** Head of Auror Office, Harry Potter  
 **Purpose of Visit:** Personal  
 **Date:** 29/07/2014  
 **Approved by:** Auror Smith, Auror Unit 9, Azkaban  
 **Personnel on duty:** Amanda Brocklehurst  
 **Time-In:** 15:04 hrs  
 **Time-Out:** 16:00 hrs

The prisoner refuses to look him in the eye, continues scribbling away at the parchments he has laid out before him. The hair is longer and ragged and there is a certain gauntness about him which suggests he has not been eating well, but the face is familiar. The bored twist of the mouth when considering another human being, the eyebrows which arch questioningly, refusing to give away any secrets unless absolutely necessary, the slightly watery eyes; not the man he once was, simply the leftovers.

"You can’t go ahead with this," says Harry.

"It’s too late for that," he replies as he continues writing furiously.

Harry tries to speak, several times, in fact. Hermione would have been much better at this, he reflects, but Hermione would have been far more abrasive too.

"There was nothing we could do," he says, gesturing ineffectively, "it was our heads or yours."

"Found Evan Rosier, have you?"

"N- _that’s besides the point_.:

"Fenrir Greyback?"

Harry sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “We’re still looking for them, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

The prisoner lays his quill down carefully and screws the ink bottle shut before looking up at Harry, “After fifteen years?”

"We’re trying as best as we can," Harry says defensively.

"It’s not good enough."

“ _Merlin’s balls_  I know it’s not good enough, but I’m trying to do what I can with what I have. The last thing we need is you publishing your memoirs from prison, Rookwood.”

"How does it feel then?" says Rookwood, "Playing the politician?"

Harry winces, “Its my responsibility - “

"Mmmm. To the Ministry. You’re a Ministry man now, Potter. Don’t forget that. One Ministry is very like another, after all."

"Why are you doing this?" 

"For My Lord," Augustus says, lowering his voice in awe -  _the simulation of awe_ , Harry thinks.

"He’s  _dead_.”

"Is he?" Rookwood raises his eyebrows.

Harry rubs his scar almost unconsciously, “Everyone saw his body,” he says uncomfortably.

"Does that matter?" Rookwood idly toys at the quill on the table, "Does it matter if he is dead in body,soul and spirit but his ideas, his beliefs live on in the hearts of people?"

"You never believed them."

Rookwood shrugs, “I had my reasons for wanting him gone.”

"Look-"

"Doesn’t mean I didn’t believe in him, in his ideals," Rookwood adds, "Of course, the question is, which ideals? The ones people thought he held or the ones penned in here?" he taps the pile of papers in front of him.

"Do you really -"

"And anyway, you’re far too late to stop this now. This is only the foreword. Everything else is gone."

“ _What?_ ”

"Nice policies you put in place after the war. Do remember to thank Miss Granger on my behalf. Prisoners at Azkaban allowed to send and receive mail as long as its scanned. Of course, human error is  _so easy_ to work around.”

"There’s no way you could have possibly sent it all out, we’d have  _known_.”

"Harry," Rookwood looks at him patronizingly, "It’s all gone. All ready to be published. There’s nothing you can do to stop this now."

"How?"

“ _Welll_ , since you’re so concerned. Three months. One letter a week to John Hope. Letters for high security prisoners are forwarded to Ron Weasley for clearance. Nice chap, not given over to reading academic prose. First five pages and last five pages absolute twaddle, best academic jargon I can muster. Ron approves the letter for sending, assuming its straightforward academic nonsense through and through. Of course if he’d  _bothered_ to turn to page six he might have changed his mind about the clearances. As I said, human error. You can have the foreword. I liked the one I sent off last week better anyway.”

"You can’t do this!"

"I just did,  _Potter_. It’s your move now. Find John Hope. Find Evan Rosier. Find Fenrir Greyback.”

"You’d like to throw us into absolute chaos in revenge for Ro-"

"Don’t," says Rookwood, "I did  _not_ do this for him. I did this for  _me._ I did this for  _everyone_ silenced during the post-war years.”

"You can lie to yourself Rookwood but it’s at the heart of this and you know it."

"Ah young love," sighs Rookwood, " You ought to wipe your glasses and take a closer look. Of course, I’m not the one who sold his friends out to turn into a Ministry man."

"We had no choice -"

"You’ve left me with none."

"What exactly is this supposed to achieve? Tell everyone that the Boy Who Lived, their idol has feet of clay?"

Rookwood shakes his head, “Your interrogation methods are terrible. Of course, you never studied under Amelia Bones so I suppose I should let it pass and be generous. No Potter, I’m more interested in telling them the things the Ministry won’t. Such as how half the Ministry you have right now consists of people from the war. Permanent Private Secretaries and Undersecretaries and Junior Secretaries, Senior Aurors, Ministry workers - all of them quietly complicit in the Muggleborn Registration Committee. Wouldn’t that make for an interesting read?”

"Is there any way we can make you change your mind? Set you free? Give you a nice home in the Bahamas? Full pension and house elf to boot?"

Rookwood laughs, “Necromancy. Can you do that? Can you bring people back from the dead?”

Harry kicks the leg of the table in frustration.

"You’re making this very difficult for me."

"You should have picked your friends more wisely when you put them in places of power."

Harry covers his face with his hands, “ _Merlin,_ Kingsley’s going to -“

"Oh and another thing Potter, consider it a friendly insiders tip. You might want to dig around in the Department of Mysteries a bit. Might find something interesting from around, say, the ‘sixties. Or you could read the copies of all my letters sitting in your in-box."

"Oh that’s very generous of you," replies Harry, "Thank you for the warning," he turns on his heel and strides to the door.

"Always my pleasure to help the Boy Who Lived But Was Never Grateful," Rookwood replies, "Do visit soon. Who knows? I might be feeling even more generous."

Harry slams the door shut and strides away.


	6. A National Emergency

Memo from the Office of the Head of the Auror Department

**Dispatched:** 1 AM, 1st August 2014.

**Sent to** : Office of Minister of Magic

**Status** : Confidential

**Copy to:**  Office of Permanent Private Undersecretary Granger-Weasley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Department of International Magical Cooperation + Office of Permanent Private Undersecretary Macmillan, Head of Muggle Liaison Office, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Press Office.

Request all to attend meeting tomorrow evening at 5pm. Attendance compulsory. Potential crisis. Possible red alert. _  
_\- H.P.

~~~~

Harry, what’s going on?  
- Kingsley Shacklebolt

Harry, what the hell is happening?  
- Ernie Macmillan

Harry, should I be worried?  
\- Ginny Weasley

Is it the nargles?  
\- Luna Lovegood

* * *

Memo from the Office of the Minister of Magic  
 **Dispatched:** 2 A.M 1st August 2014  
 **Sent to:** Department of Law Enforcement  
 **Copy to:** All Ministry Departments  
 **Status:** Classified

Declare state of emergency effective immediately. All communications with the public to be passed through the Office of the Minister of Magic.

All operations in the Department of Mysteries to cease until further notice.

Any unsanctioned communications with the public will incur immediate disciplinary action.

[sign]  
Kingsley Shacklebolt.


	7. Incitatory Material

Incitatory material  _my arse_.

There was nothing remotely incitatory about  _Myths of Magical Europe_  if you read it with your eyes open. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Of course, the problem lay in the fact that people liked to talk about one myth and one myth alone. The myth which told the [story of the Great Sorceress and her son](http://thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com/post/80720256141/on-the-origins-of-magic-1-of-the-breaking-of) and how magic came into the world through treachery and betrayal by the non-magical people of the world. If they’d bothered to look at the other myths in that volume - and so many other volumes - they might have discovered something very interesting.

 _The myth was not myth at all, but a story wizards had told themselves so many times it had shaped the way they thought and wrote about muggles_.

And these myths, these stories conjured out of nowhere had so shaped the way we played with our magic that we no longer bothered to look beyond our petty little spells, working and reworking the same magic over and over again.

Quite boring, really.

Until one man came along - or rather a group of men and women - and shook things up, claiming that magical superiority had nothing to do with how blue the blood in one’s veins ran, but everything to do with will and willpower and whether or not a thing the muggles called  _genes_ had mutated and replicated itself enough to [cause](http://flourishandblottsstories.tumblr.com/post/81295796741/there-are-two-well-worn-tales-of-the-first-witch#notes)some people to have magic and others to not - not how strong a person’s magic was. 

Oh yes, muggle science. Muggle words.

This group of men and women thought they were standing on the brink of a new and glorious age of magical research. How could they not? Such a revolution in their understanding of magic. Magic controlled exclusively by willpower and not by the tradition of wand-waving and words pronounced just-so. They had found  _true_ magic.

Naturally, they had to be silenced.

Caius Rookwood, murdered, 1968.

Eileen Prince, lost her job, 1973.

Edgar Bones, murdered 1975.

Michael McKinnon, killed in an unfortunate accident, 1974.

Amanda Blishwick, fired for a serious oversight, 1969.

Samantha Jones, “promoted” to Permanent Private Secretary at the Department of Mysteries for her administrative skills, 1971.

Michael Finnigan and Millicent Bulstrode, disappeared while on assignment in the Black Forest, 1976.

The muggles have many sayings concerning butterflies. Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel? Chaos is a butterfly flapping its wings in one corner of the world and causing a hurricane in another.

These papers are that butterfly. Broken on a wheel, now flapping their wings wildly.

A.R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The genetics and mechanics of magic pulled from a piece on flourishandblottsstories and conceived of by tumblr user ppyajunebug)


	8. The Germans are Not Pleased - and neither is one Draco Malfoy

Malfoy,

Your English Ministry better get their act together. German Minister not pleased. Zauberhaftesforschungsamt has been making all sorts of threatening noises.

C. Lestrange,  
Untersekretär, Magischezusammensarbeitsamt  
Zauberministerium  
Germany

Corvus,

Good to hear from you too cousin.

It’s not my problem that your ridiculously named ministries are causing all sorts of trouble. The English Ministry has enough to deal with at the moment without you krauts adding to the merry mix.

D. Malfoy.

 

Malfoy,

I thought you should know this - your mother just transferred all of the liquid assets of the Malfoy Estate out of England and put them in an account in Switzerland. And has put in the necessary forms for the transference of several non-liquid assets to secure holding places in the Carribbeans.

Blaise.

Zabini,

_Merlin_ what am I supposed to do about that? I don’t know what’s happening. Ask mother or something. I’m sure she has her reasons.

Draco.

* * *

 

Andy,

Now might be a wise time to make those investments in the UAE.

Love,  
'Cissy

'Cissy,

What’s going on?

Love,  
Andy

Andy,

I just have a hunch.

Love,  
'Cissy

_Oh Merlin shit fuck buggering wanker. -_ Andy

* * *

 

Potter,

I don’t care what it is you’re up to, but I promise you, if you’re stirring up trouble that could affect us, we will make things  _bloody_ difficult for you.

Draco Malfoy.


	9. An International Incident

Memos between the Head of the Auror Office and  the Deputy Head of the Auror Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  
 **Dispatched between:** 3 A.M. - 3:15 A.M. 1st of August 2014.  
 **Status:** Confidential

Harry, the French address for John Hope is a dead end. Redirects to Manchester, England.  
\- Ron

Don’t say it.  
- Harry

It is. Sorry.  
\- Ron

I thought they were in the Caribbean!  
\- Harry

* * *

 

Memo from the Office of Permanent Private Private Undersecretary, Department of International Magical Cooperation.  
 **Dispatched:** 5 A.M. 3rd August 2014.  
 **Status:** Classified.  
 **To:** Office of the Minister of Magic  
 **Copy to:** Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Magischeforschungsamt has published papers they have been working on for the past three months. Original papers sent to them from anonymous source, trace back to England. German Minister for Magischezusammensarbeitsamt not pleased. Possible diplomatic incident in the making. French Ministry making displeased noises. Russia not entered the fray. Yet. Thank Merlin for small mercies. _  
_\- E.M.

* * *

 

MALFOY YOU BLOODY TWAT YOU COULD HAVE TRIED HARDER

\- C. Lestrange

Bloody hell Malfoy, the English Ministry doesn’t do things by halves does it? 

\- Blaise.

 

Potter,

What the  _fuck_ is happening at the Ministry? Half of ruddy Europe’s breathing down my neck. Stop being Gryffindorks and get your act together. Blaise and cos on verge of coronary arrest/apoplexy .

Malfoy.

* * *

 

Harry, mums going to send a Howler unless you tell us what's happening. - Ginny.


	10. Tough choices for the Minister of Magic

From the Office of the Minister of Magic  
 **To:** Head of the Auror Office  
 **Dispatched:** 5:01 A.M 2nd August 2014  
 **Status:** Classified

If its a case of Goblins and purebloods versus Ministry trouble, I’ll take Ministry trouble anyday. _  
_\- Kingsley Shacklebolt.


	11. The News at Seven

From:  _The Daily Prophet_ dated 2nd August 2014.

**DEATH EATER TO PUBLISH MEMOIRS FROM AZKABAN  
** "True story of Voldemort’s wars" says imprisoned mass-murderer Augustus Rookwood.

_By a staff reporter  
London_

Former Ministry Unspeakable turned Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood, has announced he will be publishing his memoirs about the wizarding wars from prison. The autobiography is the first of its kind, coming straight from behind enemy lines. Sources in the Auror Office indicate that this forthcoming book will contain never before seen information about life and service under Voldemort, as well as formerly classified information about Ministry affairs and politics during the first and second wars.

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has sanctioned the publication of this autobiography despite outcry from allies among the Citizen’s Resistance. The following statement was issued early this morning:

> _There are those who will say that this is a sure sign of our weakness, that in our compassion we have bent over backwards to lend voices to the very enemies we fought against. There are those who have attacked us, in the past, for not being transparent enough. To them, I have nothing to say. I believe, and so do my fellow colleagues, that the publication of this autobiography which may contain information damaging to certain members of this Ministry, is but one step towards greater transparency at this time - transparency which we believe, will lead to greater stability and greater integrity within the Ministry for the benefit of all the magical people of Britain._

Death Eater Augustus Rookwood was arrested ten years ago, by the American Auror Division, in San Francisco and has been imprisoned ever since for his involvement with the terrorist group and the murders of at least five civilian wix, including Unspeakable Broderick Bode at St. Mungo’s in 1995.

More on this story later.

* * *

Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.iii:  _Request clearance for outgoing letters, high security prisoner_  
 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **To:** Harry Potter, Auror Office  
 **Date:** 2nd August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

Touche.  
\- A.R.

* * *

From:  _W!_  on 2nd August 2014

A certain favourite playboy-billionaire was spotted last night at the Fawley Ball, dancing with Claire Urquart. The couple were seen getting cozy after a few drinks and were spotted taking a smoking break together on the balcony later.

A little bird tells us that Andrei Vakhashivili is visiting friends in Belgravia and is looking to rent rooms in Sybaritik Alley. We wonder if the charms of a certain coy young debutante has something to do with this sudden move back to England.

* * *

 

From MI7, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, International Affairs Division.  
 **To:** Minister of Magic  
 **Dispatched:** 5:30 A.M 2nd August 2014  
 **Copy to:** Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office  
 **Status:** Classified

Agent Scofield reports Andrei Vakhashivili return to London, “visiting friends” in Belgravia. _  
_\- R.S.


	12. Justin Finch-Fletchley has lots of opinions

Form 43 Section X Subsection Y.I.iv:  _Request permission for use of private conference rooms, high security meeting, non Ministry personnel._  
 **Time & Date: **5:00 P.M. 2nd August 2014  
 **Ministry Personnel in attendance:** Office of Minister of Magic, Head & Permanent Private Secretary of the Department of International Cooperation, Head MI7, Head & Deputy Head of the Auror Office, Head & Permanent Private Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head of the Goblin Liasion Office, Head of the Centaur Liasion Office, Head of the Press Office, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office  
 **Civilian Personnel in Attendance:** Editor of the Quibbler, Owner of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, Civilians Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy  
 **Security Clearances on Civilian Personnel:** approved, Auror Potter, Head of Auror Office  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Kingsley Shacklebolt

 

 **Meeting Minutes:** transcr. J.F.F.

**Agenda:**

\- Potential security threats posed by release of imprisoned Death Eater autobiography + effective counter-measures

\- German crisis: Magischeforchungsamt papers’ publications, possible preventive action which can be taken. 

\- Communications from French Minister of Magic re high security papers from the DoM vaults leaked to Germany.

\- Mi7 reports on Andrei Vakhashivili’s movements

\- Communications of high-security prisoner #R080421

**Item 5:** Communications of high-security prisoner #R080421

Auror Potter read out select excerpts from the communications of prisoner #R080421 titled  _The Last Effects of Caius Rookwood._ Members agreed that said excerpts contain politically sensitive information which could cause considerable political unrest, especially amongst currently disenfranchised groups of sentient magical creatures, particularly Goblins. Permanent Private Undersecretary of DMLE inclined to blame DRCMC for slowness in offering these groups greater rights and greater stakes in the wizarding world, which could have prevented conflict arising now.

Auror Potter then asked Draco Malfoy to read out excerpts from banned Ministry book  _Myths of Magical Europe._ Deputy Head of the Auror Office demand investigation into why Civ. Malfoy has this book in his possession. Civ. Malfoy refused to answer. Deputy Head required restraining by Auror Potter. 

Select passages read out, in conjunction with Caius Rookwood’s papers indicate major flaws in current social hierarchy of wizarding world, possibly damaging enough to cause Goblin & Centaur insurrections & revive old conflicts with House Elves & other species. Possible also, reactionary muggleborn & half-blood revolutions against Purebloods. Further danger of muggles/muggle Ministries getting hold of this information and demanding erasure of Statute of Secrecy and further “cooperation” with the magical world.

~~(Am satisfied to see half table turn pale at thought. Must be _so difficult_ for them.)~~

**Motion from Minister of Magic** : Deflect attention until further policies can be initiated. Media storm around autobiography release. Press conferences. Public readings. Initiate Public Inquiries. Push Wizengamot vote date on Permanent Private Undersecretary Granger-Weasley’s draft policy  _Policy for the Promotion of the Welfare of Sentient Magical Beings_ up to next week from next month.

 **Votes** : 12 for, 5 against.

 **Objections:**    
Civ. Malfoy, Goblin Liasion Office and Centaur Liasion Office agreed that magical creatures not sentient, not to be given the right to vote and hold places in the Wizengamot as P.P.U Granger-Weasley insists  ~~I’d like to see them live without the right to vote not thinking beings my arse~~

Owner, WWW worried that this could set bad precedent for future, believes might be better to make public Caius Rookwood’s papers and allow public to decide for themselves what to do. Points out Goblins will learn about papers via banking contacts in Germany anyway. Objections seconded by editor of Quibbler.  ~~They do make an interesting point though why are _we_ hiding from the Goblins? Auror Potter looks uncomfortable, Granger-Weasley looks like she wants to thump them on the back and cheer them on.~~

 **Amendments:** None. Motion voted through, minority overruled.  ~~Mixed feelings about this now that George & Luna mention it.~~

* * *

Form 43 Section X Subsection Y.I.i:  _Request permission for use of private conference rooms, high security meeting, select Ministry personnel._  
 **Time & Date: **9:00 P.M. 2nd August 2014  
 **Ministry Personnel in attendance:** Office of Minister of Magic, Head & Permanent Private Secretary of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Head MI7, Head & Deputy Head of the Auror Office, Head & Permanent Private Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head of the Goblin Liasion Office, Press Office  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Kingsley Shacklebolt

**Meeting Minutes:** transcr. J.F.F.

 **Agenda:** German crisis. 

Head of DIMC opening statements concerning German Ministry’s frantic attempts to get English Ministry to atone for their wizards’ research in the Magischeforschungsamt.

~~Fat chance~~

German Ministry also apparently pushing International Confederation of Wizards to investigate security policies at Azkaban & for the imposition of greater restrictions on high security prisoners’ rights at Azkaban so as to prevent similar occurrences in the future. Table agreed that these are unreasonable demands and will not be acted upon.  ~~Haha take that~~  Deputy Secretary of the Press Office suggests pre-empt public announcement by the Germans and have a press conference detailing progress this Ministry has made in terms of improved rights for all sections of wizarding society, focus on ordinary wix and slip in occasional references to Azkaban. Also point out deplorable state of prisoners’ rights in other countries and call for fellow countries to work on improving prisoners’ rights in the name of wixen decency.

~~Never thought the Creevey kid capable of such chicanery why is he hanging around in the Press Office?~~

Goblin Liaison Office adamant that Goblin storm can be ridden out. Finally agreed to push PPU Granger-Weasley’s draft policy titled  _Policy for the Promotion of the Welfare of Sentient Magical Beings_ through.  ~~About bloody time~~  Granger-Weasley proposes we announce advance news of this to Goblins at Gringott’s to assure them that we are working towards their welfare. Goblin Liaison Office skeptical that this will appease Goblins.

~~Sincerely hope Rookwood’s book dishes some dirt on this fellow and he has to resign.~~

Granger-Weasley patiently explained to Goblin Liaison Office that this is only a temporary measure and that the Goblins will know that it is a temporary measure and that  _the Ministry fully plans on introducing more legislation to improve their rights/position in society, it is obstinate wix in the Wizengamot that are the problem_.

~~They really ought to look into administering IQ tests as a qualification for public office. NEWTs are rubbish.~~

**Motion:** Proposed private apology to German Ministry, send four elite Auror Units to Germany to help with peacekeeping and law enforcement. Press conference with all members of the press tomorrow morning. Call for emergency convening of the Wizengamot next week instead of usual session in November.

 **Votes:** All for.

 **Amendments:** None.

Meeting adjourned at 11 P.M.

 **Notes:** Junior Secretary Finch-Fletchley to refrain from making private notes on Ministry documents. - K.S.


	13. A world in uproar

Malfoy,

Sounds like you lot over in bonny England are having fun. Wondering if I should throw my own spanners in the works.

Nott.

 

Nott,

Please don’t. 

Malfoy.

* * *

 

Draco,

Fuck you. Fuck you bastards. Fuck your MI7, fuck your aurors, fuck everything.

C. Lestrange.

 

Corv,

 _Language_ , dear boy. Whatever would your mother say?

(If its any consolation - my sentiments precisely.)

Sorry about the banks. Hope you, Millicent & kids are all right.

Draco.

* * *

 

Haha hahaha what?

Blaise.

Zabini,

My condolences.

Draco.

* * *

From the Office of the Permanent Private Undersecretary, Department of International Magical Cooperation  
 **To:** Minister of Magic  
 **Dispatched:** 7:00 P.M 2nd August 2014  
 **Copy to:** Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office  
 **Status:** Classified

German Ministry in uproar. Emergency meeting scheduled in 2 hours.   
\- E.M  
Encl: Headlines from the Evening Edition of  _Die Magische Zeitung_

 **Attachment:** Frontpage of  _Die Magische Zeitung_

 

 **KOBOLDUNRUHEN:**  BANKEN BIS AUF WEITERES GESCHLOSSEN.   
 _Minister für Internationale Magische Zusammenarbeit verlangt eine öffentliche Untersuchung._

 

(tr: Unrest among Goblins: Banks shut until further notice. Minister of International Magical Cooperation calls for a public inquiry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translation of headlines provided by tumblr user trigilis.


	14. Sibling Rivalry

Form 84 Section B Subsection C.I.iii: Request visit for high security prisoner  
 **Prisoner:** R080421  
 **Visitor:** Head of Department of Law Enforcement, Portia Montgomery  
 **Purpose of Visit:** Personal  
 **Date:** 2/08/2014  
 **Approved by:** Auror Smith, Auror Unit 9, Azkaban  
 **Personnel on duty:** Alexander Brown  
 **Time-In:** 21:00 hrs  
 **Time-Out:** 22:00 hrs

"You don’t have to go through with it."

"Make idle threats?" he raises his eyebrows, "Is that how you run the DMLE?"

She twists the edge of her robes in her fingers, “It’s not right.”

"And me being here is."

"Comparatively, yes. Not enough to warrant you throwing the  _whole bloody wizarding world_ into chaos.”

He shrugs, “Its for justice. And truth.”

"So you’ll just  _stand_ back here, safe and sound, with your arms crossed, laughing as we try to run around cleaning up the mess you’ve started?”

"Oh well sorry, I’ll just be sitting here,  _enjoying_ myself in  _prison_.”

"Merlin Gus, you’re so  _selfish_.”

"I like that -"

“ _Shut up_. Don’t tell me about how you’ve been selfless all your life, laying yourself down for everyone to walk all over you because everyone bloody well knows that it wasn’t selflessness or higher moral duty, but plain  _fucking_ _guilt_.”

"You don’t know  _anything_.”

"I’m your sister, I think I know enough. I know enough to know that you’re doing this because you’ve spent ten years feeling sorry for yourself and like a  _child_ , you want to get your own back.”

"Well by all means, do go ahead and tell me why I’m doing this because _obviously, I don’t know_.”

She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, “ _Why_?”

"I told you. Justice and truth, you can believe me or you can not believe me,  _I don’t bloody care_.”

"You’re so  _selfish_.”

"You’re like a broken record. If you don’t have anything interesting to say you can leave - "

"It’s always been about your guilt. Everything.  _Don’t upset Gus, he’s been through so much. Don’t trouble him Portia. Just do as he says Portia. He just needs time Portia. No Portia you can’t have any attention, I have to help poor Gus **poor, poor Gus been through so much you couldn’t possibly understand Portia, don’t trouble the poor boy**_ **.”**

"I fail to see what this has to do with me, this is all  _mother’s_ doing.”

She flicks him between the eyes, “She wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t been moping around the place the whole time, looking as though you carried the weight of the world upon your shoulders.”

"You’ve never been through what I’ve been through."

"And that must be  _so terrible_ for you. All that  _guilt_ for  _all those years_ , if you  _want_ to make it right, you’re going about it all wrong and father wouldn’t have approved.”

"He was  _dead_ by the time you were born and he would have done the same thing.”

"Then he was a  _fool_ and you ought to stop feeling guilty about something you couldn’t possibly be held guilty for.”

 _You weren’t_   _there, you never saw what I saw._

"Its too late," he shrugs, instead.

She looks as though she’d like to hit him, moves her hands, still them and they clench into fists.

"You’re wrong if you think any of this is going to change anything," she says evenly, "People will read this, public inquiries will be made, a few people will be fired and  _everything_ will go back to normal in a few weeks. A few discreet scholarly minds will come out in public and tell everyone that Caius Rookwood was a madman and that his theories were completely outlandish, people will take their word for it - because  _who the fuck knows who Caius Rookwood is_ _except that he was the father of a Death Eater,_ as though that lends him credibility? And in a few weeks, maybe a few months, all of this would have been forgotten, but  _you_ ,  _you’ll_ be in  _big_ trouble when this blows over because the Ministry won’t forget that you’re the one who started it all. And by that time, Auror Potter would have finished his investigations into father’s murder and  _you’re_ going to be the one who’s going to have to answer some  _very_ difficult questions. And  _no one_ is going to be nice to you this time round.”

"I’ll answer them," he says carelessly, "I’m a  _big, bad_  Death Eater aren’t I?”

She studies her older brother, hardened and embittered by his time in prison and wishes she could shake some sense into him, or at least rouse him from this miasma of self-pity he seems to have been sucked into. Then again, she wonders how much she knew him in the first place and whether he’s always been this self-pitying, simply not out loud where she could hear him. Whether ten years all alone in this tomb - it  _is_ a tomb - with nothing but the North Sea and his memories to keep him company have finally made him believe all the poisonous stories he’s told himself over the years.

"Well good luck explaining what you were doing on the scene of the crime," she drawls.

He stiffens, slightly and her eyes shine in triumph, knowing that she has finally made it through to him.

"I still can’t get used to it," he says, lightly, swiftly changing the subject. Forced, but not enough for her to catch it.

"What?" 

"Portia Montgomery," he rolls the syllables exaggeratedly.

"Charles isn’t his brother."

"His son was a bully too. Had to deal with him at good old Hogwarts."

"Charles isn’t like them, all right? Leave off."

"I didn’t have anyone to tell them off till -"

"Till your knight in shining armour came along, Merlin’s  _balls_ Gus, it happened ages ago,  _it doesn’t matter now_.”

"But it matters, Portia," he says softly, "All of it." 

She rolls her eyes, “get your story straight before they haul you up for questioning,” she says unsympathetically and then leaves, not marking the way his eyes cloud over and his knuckles turn white,  _so white,_ as he grips the edge of his table - or the fact that he draws blood when he bites his lip.

Or the way he starts to sob helplessly when he is certain there is no one who can overhear him in the corridor outside.


	15. The Ministry Archives prove to be an interesting place

Auror Report  
 **Date:** 28 December 1968  
 **Location:** Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Complainant:** Ms. Maggie Blenkinsop  
 **Complaint:** Possible break-in, Rookwood home.  
 **Investigated by:** Aurors Samuel Smith and Marcus Fortescue

 **Time:** 8 PM

**Witness reports:**

At 7:45 PM Mrs Blenkinsop reports seeing a tall, thin person in black dragging something dark and bulky through the Rookwood’s back garden.

Follow up indicates that nothing was stolen from the house. No apparent sign of break-in. No wards found around the house.

Ministry employee Unspeakable Caius Rookwood’s body found in adjourning field. Cursory tests indicate use of semi-dark magic.

Family not available for questioning at the time. Claims out on visit to Claudia Avery at the time. Claudia Avery corroborates statement.

 **Actions taken:** File for Form 130 under Auror Procedure Guidelines, investigation of murder.  
 **Status:** Pending.

Form 130: Investigation for Murder  
 **Date:** 28 December 1968  
 **Location:** Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Victim name:** Caius Rookwood  
 **Cause of death:** Unknown, possible use of semi-dark magic  
 **Description:** Victim found ripped open diagonally from throat to hip, entrails forcefully removed, key indicators of entrail-expelling curse. Greenish traces in skin suggest possible use of spell URA01.   
 **Investigating Auror:** Rufus Scrimgeour  
 **Notes:** Judging by bone and tissue damage, possible use of spell URA02 to inflict injury. Strongly suspect premeditation, investigate DoM employees who might have known more about Caius Rookwood.

Section of interview with Rookwood’s son, Augustus reproduced here, of possible interest and further follow up:

RS:  _Those robes you’re wearing, quite dirty aren’t they?_

AR:  _I don’t see how that’s your -_

RS:  _Got mud on them. What’s your shoe size Rookwood?_

AR:  _11 - 10 - I don’t know_

RS:  _We could measure it right here if you want -_

AR:  _9._

RS:  _I’m sure you won’t have any problem handing me the boots you’re wearing right now._

AR:  _Look here -_

RS:  _Or do you have a problem Mr Rookwood?_

AR:  _No_

Boot prints match those found near Caius Rookwood’s body.

 **Sign:** Rufus Scrimgeour

 **Addendum:** _Rufus Scrimgeour pulled from case 05/01/1969, Andrew Travers investigating case starting 06/01/1969. Reasons for withdrawal of Auror Scrimgeour from case unspecified._  - Auror Bones.

 _Auror Scrimgeour’s notes on Augustus Rookwood unnecessary. Boy claims he found his father lying there and was understandably shaken. Suggest Auror Scrimgeour take a few OWLs in human behaviour_  - Auror Travers.

* * *

 

From the Auror Office  
 **To:** Head of the Auror Office  
 **Dispatched:** 1 AM 3rd August 2014  
 **Copy to:** Office of the Permanent Private Undersecretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
 **Status:** Private

Harry I think you should take a look at this. _  
_\- S.B.

Encl: Auror field reports, 28th December 1968


	16. The Bones family rides again

Form 84 Section B Subsection C.I.iii (b): Request visit for high security prisoner, Ministry Business.  
 **Prisoner:** R080421  
 **Visitor:** Auror Susan Bones  
 **Purpose of Visit:** Routine Investigation re. Case 126806  
 **Date:** 3/08/2014  
 **Approved by:** Auror Smith, Auror Unit 9, Azkaban  
 **Personnel on duty:** Auror Alexander Brown  
 **Time-In:** 10:00 hrs  
 **Time-Out:** 12:00 hrs

_You’re dead,_ he thinks as he looks at her, brown hair trimmed in a neat bob and a shapeless brown coat that could be muggle or wizarding - no one could ever tell -  _you’re not supposed to be here._

She says nothing to him, shuffling through her papers and carefully sorting them.

There are things he has tried to forget, just like any other human being - just like anyone else who fought in the war, or stood on the sidelines of the first war and watched as death marched through the land. Funerals, so many funerals, looking down into the faces of the dead and wondering which of his friends had been the one to cast the curse which killed. Seeing burns and scars and having to turn away quickly, so that none would know that he  _knew._

The first time he watches a man - a colleague, a  _friend -_ choke to death slowly, tentacula vines pinning him to the bed, twining round his throat. Fabian’s dead, blackened body, reeking of dark magic ( _dark curses he will later find an antidote to_ ). The smell of blood. The smell of fire and burning. The smell of alcohol and fear. Three days in darkness. A brown-haired woman in brown robes that could be a muggle coat - no one ever quite knew which.

But she is  _dead_.

"Susan Bones," she says eventually, "I believe you knew my aunt."

He smiles. He has to. She smiles back at him.  _Dangerous_ , just like her aunt.

"I don’t see why -"

"Routine investigation, Mr Rookwood," she waves her hand airily, "You understand how it is. Just cross-checking some facts, that’s all."

"That’s supposed to comfort me?"

She shrugs, “You tell me.”

"I asked for a re-investigation, not for a grilling."

"Standard procedure, sir. I don’t have much control over this."

"I see."

"Now," she carefully extracts a paper from the pile and reads it out, "According to Auror Scrimgeour, in 1968, you were there at the scene of the crime."

"It was my  _home_.”

"But the first time ‘round you said you were visiting your aunt?"

"I was scared, I lied. It happens all the time."

"You found the body."

"I told you I was  _scared_.”

"Is that what  _they_ told you to say?” she asks him, sympathetically.

He swallows, “no,”  _too long, too long_ , “Who are  _they_?”

"Really Mr Rookwood," she says looking at him much as she would at a child, "Do give the Auror department some credit."

He smiles, “You’re just like your aunt.”

"I know," she replies, "Now. Who were or are they?"

"I don’t know," he shrugs, "they were wearing masks."

"Why did you stay silent all these years?"

He stares at her, “they  _threatened_ me, they threatened  _mum -_ they threatened my  _sister_  for Merlin’s sake.”

"No. Why did you wait ten years before asking for a reinvestigation?"

"I had nothing to er, arm-twist Harry with, as you so delicately put it."

"There’s hardly anything new you could have found out in ten years to put even more pressure on Harry."

"I made the threat more real, if you will."

"Why won’t your sister answer any questions?"

"Because she knows -" he stops suddenly, "My sister? What does she have to do with this? She wasn’t even born at the time of the murder."

"What does she know?"

"I don’t know, ask her, be my guest, badger her with your stupid questions,  _I had nothing to do with it_.”

"Then why does Auror Brown say he overheard your sister telling you to," she picks another paper from the pile, " ‘get your story straight before they question you’?"

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," he sneers, "Eavesdropping for evidence? Tut tut."

"Answer the question Mr Rookwood."

"My sister says all kinds of things without meaning them."

"Then I suppose you won’t mind us giving her Veritaserum and questioning her?" 

"No,"  _too soon, too soon_.

"No?"

"Go on then," he says, and then swallows, "See if I care."

"I’m giving you the chance to tell us the story," she says gently, then reaches across and squeezes his hand lightly, "You don’t have to be scared about telling us. Were you there?"

He swallows, pulling his hand away, and shakes his head, “Don’t.”

"Mr Rookwood, we’re only trying to help you - it’s either here or in a public trial."

He shakes his head and buries his face in his hands, “Please, don’t.”

"Sir -"

He only shakes his head harder.

"We’re only trying to help," she says gently.

Silence. One minute. Two minutes. Maybe five. Maybe an eternity. Time has no stop in Azkaban, it comes and goes but its always  _silent, silent, silent_ and someone is always  _watching_ _,_ this child - or other children - all children watching him, waiting for him to tell them all his secrets and Merlin knows he has  _many_ secrets -

"Mr Rookwood?"

"Charles Nott," he blurts out, all of a sudden, "Charles Nott, all those nice words he said back in 1968, deeply regretting my father’s death, when he  _stood_ there. Just  _stood there_.”

He places his hands palms down on the table and looks at her, “Charles Nott was there. Henry Mulciber, he was the one who said they couldn’t just leave him, had to make sure he was dead. Antinous Lestrange, “Honour from blood” the Lestranges keep saying to themselves, honour from blood honour from blood like its some bloody charm, like it protects them, he was there too. God, Scrimgeour asking questions left, right and center, “ _could have been the Cruciatus”_  “ _could have been the entrails-expelling curse_ ”. That was Antinous, all Antinous.”

"So you were there?"

"Yes I was there. Does it matter? They’re all dead now."

She pauses before the next question, “Who killed him? How did they kill him?”

"You can tell Harry Potter, he probably knows by now - well him or the Granger girl - it’s all a wild goose chase. They were trying to stop him, couldn’t have those papers, couldn’t have those riots."

"You’re not answering my question, Mr. Rookwood."

"By now, Germany’ll be in uproar, tomorrow, Gringott’s won’t open its doors - despite everything the Granger bird’d be doing to show them the wizarding world cares, the fuck do they care, they know the wizarding world doesn’t care for them, as long as they’re there to bow and smile and open bank vaults for them."

"Mr Rookwood -"

"The centaurs will be next. Some kid, probably the Lovegood girl - she was the one wa’n’t she? The one who spent her time talking to the creatures, listening to their stories? She’ll have a spanner to throw in the works soon enough and soon,  _soon_ , everyone will know.”

"Sir -"

"But it doesn’t matter,  _does it_?” he is standing and shouting by now, “ _Because Caius Rookwood is dead and at the end of it, all he is is the father of a good-for nothing Death Eater_.”

"Sit down," she says sternly, holding her wand out, "No one,  _no one_ is impressed by shouting.”

"He’s  _dead_. Does it matter, who killed him?”

"Answer the question."

Augustus Rookwood sits back down. Takes a deep breathe in and then smiles at her. Cool, calm,  _bored_. Like the mugshot they took of him when they dragged him in here.

"I don’t know."

Susan nods, “Thank you, Mr Rookwood, you’ve been er, quite helpful.”

"You’re worse than your aunt."

"I know," she smiles.


	17. They only brew storms nowadays

Dear Rita,  
How would you like to beat the Auror Department and Wizengamot at their job?  
Portia Rookwood.

Dear Portia,  
Intriguing. Assuming your brother really is going to answer my questions.  
Rita Skeeter.

Dear Rita,  
I’ve made him promise.  
Portia Rookwood.

* * *

 Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.ii:  _Request clearance for incoming letters, high security prisoner_

 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **From:** Portia Montgomery, Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Date:** 5th August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

 _What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing Gus?  
_ Portia.

Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.iii:  _Request clearance for outgoing letters, high security prisoner_  
 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **To:** Portia  ~~Rookwood~~  Montgomery, Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Date:** 5th August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

Living down to my adoring public’s expectations. Being the butterfly I’ve always wanted to be.  
\- Augustus.

* * *

Memos dispatched between the Head of the Auror Office and the Auror Office  
 **Dispatched:** 8:15 - 8:16 AM, 5th August 2014  
 **Status:** Private

Susan, you said you had the matter in hand! _  
_- Harry

Well it’s your bloody “lets be merciful to our enemies” policy that landed you in this mess. I had him right where I bloody wanted him before the Skeeter woman got to him. _  
_\- Susan

* * *

 Potter,

Wow, yes, that was an excellent idea wasn’t it? Nothing bad could possibly come out of this could it? No sir, not one bit.

I hope you’ve learnt your lesson, Potter. If you let that autobiography come out, you’ll have hell to pay.

D.M.

 

Malfoy,

Stop whining and make yourself useful.

H.P.

Draco,

I understand your penchant for flamboyance and scandal, but really, this has gone too far now. This autobiography is not going to be very amusing for you or for me - at least you have the Greengrass fortune on hand to dabble in for funds, I’m here by the sweat of my brow and I’ll be  _damned_ if I see all my hard work go to waste.

Merlin, what  _is_ the Ministry doing? Auror Potter needs to pull his head out of the clouds and realize his policy of mercy isn’t doing anyone any good.

Yours,

C.L.

 

Corv,

I’d have thought having your father outed would have made you more palatable to the progressive and forward-thinking members of the public, but evidently I was wrong.

As far as the Ministry is concerned, I share your concern. I am afraid to think about all the horrendous things Rookwood’s autobiography is going to reveal - all the Scourgifys I’m going to have to aim in the general direction of my head. I shudder to think of it.

Yours,

D.M.


	18. Ron isn't the only one who makes mistakes

Memos from various Departments from the Ministry of Magic  
 **To:** the Head of the Auror Office  
 **Dispatched between:** 8 - 8:15 AM, 5th of August 2014.  
 **Status:** Private

You’re supposed to tell the Minister about these things in advance! You cannot allow the press to spring such surprises on us Harry! Kingsley is  **pissed**!  
\- J.F.F

Harry, what the actual fuck?  
\- Ron 

Harry, what the hell is going on?  
- D.C.

I can’t believe you let Skeeter visit Rookwood!  
\- Hermione

This quality of mercy thing is bullshit, the press is flocking around Azkaban in droves. Do something.  
\- A.S.

Harry, you started this, you get this under control.  
\- Kingsley

We want advance copies of that autobiography. If it goes into print, we’re quitting. Just so you know, everyone down in MI7 is drafting their letters of resignation.  
\- S.A.P. & R.S.


	19. Rita Skeeter's last scoop

From:  _The Daily Prophet_ , dated 5th August 2014.

**"I TORTURED MY FATHER AND KILLED HIM": DEATH EATER TELLS ALL**

_By Special Correspondent, Rita Skeeter  
London_

Little more than a week ago, Auror Potter surprised the wizarding world by announcing that he was reopening investigations into Caius Rookwood’s murder forty-six years ago. Murdered in 1968, Caius Rookwood was said to have been murdered by muggles and his death was hushed up under what can only be described as mysterious circumstances.

Now, Death Eater Augustus Rookwood, in a stunning series of revelations, confesses to having murdered his father in 1968 and answers a series of troubling questions in an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter:  Why, for example, was Rufus Scrimgeour pulled from the case? And why was he replaced by Andrew Travers, a Death Eater? Who pulled the strings? Why, after all these years, has The Boy Who Lived reopened investigations into the murder of Caius Rookwood? 

_Continued page 3._

Forty-eight years ago, a scrawny young man in Ravenclaw blue and bronze proudly tripped his way over to the teachers’ dais to receive an award from the Head of the Department of Mysteries for Outstanding Achievements and Contributions to the Field of Countercurses. None of us applauding him at the time in the Great Hall, could have ever imagined that this young man, proud of his achievements yet self-deprecatory in his acceptance speech, would be capable of the brutal violence all too common to You-Know-Who’s regime.

Augustus Rookwood is as scrawny and self-deprecatory as ever, but service under You-Know-Who and the years in Azkaban have taken their toll. His face is hard and his smiles bitter. His wit, however, is still sharp and biting as ever, painfully aimed at everything and everyone  _sans_ discrimination. It is very difficult not to feel sorry for him - a promising young mind ruined by years of service to a bloodthirsty tyrant, a victim of an unfair game with the odds loaded against him.

Or is he?

Augustus laughs when I tell him this, “If there are any victims, it’s the poor people of Cork who still go to bed at night and dream of the heads of children lined up on their walls.”

I ask him what he thinks about being the anti-hero of the wizarding world as wix all over the country are calling him now as they speculate and quarrel over the contents of his upcoming autobiography.

"Goodness," he lightly touches my hand in surprise, "It’s not that sort of autobiography. If they want angst and brooding despair they’ll have to go elsewhere."

If it's not that sort of biography, what is it? Augustus calls it a tell-all and naturally, I'm intrigued. A perfect moment to clear up certain questions certain circles in the wizarding world have been debating - was Bellatrix Lestrange having a tempestuous affair with the Dark Lord or not?

He smiles with the same boyish charm that made several witches in my year at school swoon, “‘Fraid you’ll have to buy the book to find out?”

I struggle with my next question, trying to find a way to phrase it. After several false starts he stops me and answers.

"If you mean the erumpent in the room, or whether or not Rodolphus and I were together, I think it’s quite obvious - I mean we  _did_ spend five years living together in San Francisco -“

Seizing on this, I ask him about what it was like, pretending to be muggles.

"Awful. Bloody awful," he answers.

Frank. To the point. The mark of years spent as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, writing up short, curt reports on magical experiments.

"Charles Nott offered me a job in the Department," he says, leaning back, fingertips lightly resting against each other, "I didn’t have much of a choice. I think it was his version of an apology, late and terrible as it was, I suppose it was better than nothing."

Charles Nott was one of several candidates, including Caius Rookwood, vying for a position as head of the Department of Mysteries. I ask him if Charles Nott was sorry for taking a position that was rightfully Caius’.

"Oh no," Augustus answers, his lips curling at the thought, "He wasn’t sorry about that. He was sorry for standing around instead of trying to stop the others." _  
_

_Others?_  I prompt him.

"Three of them. Antinous Lestrange, gentleman of leisure. Henry Mulciber, hardworking member of the vast civil service that propels magical Britain. Charles Nott, Unspeakable. They were all there that night."

His face darkens for a moment before he continues, “I was there. These were early days, before they’d come up with their silly ivory masks, they simply had their hoods on their cloaks pulled low, but I could recognize their voices, you know? I’d spent every summer at the Lestrange home with Rodolphus,” he smiles fondly as he remembers, “We were very young then, practicing spells so that we’d be ready for the revolution - I remember the summer before, we’d been practicing the Killing Curse, oh not on people,” he laughs, “goodness, no. On rabbits and harmless woodland creatures - that sort of thing you know.”

This is a side of Augustus Rookwood the public has never seen before. A cruel sadist, with a stomach-churning candour concerning Unforgivable dark spells, a disturbing foretelling of the career he would embark on under You-Know-Who.

"We were very concerned about the revolution in our own way," he says, "we were all going to join the Dark Lord and we were ready to purge the world of everyone who stood in our way. Naturally we had to be equipped with the tools to do so - spells, weapons, everything and anything we could get our hands on, we did and practiced. Antinous was very aware of this, encouraged us even. 

"Anyway, my father was quite the opposite, always talking about these politics, disgusting things - he believed in equality," he sneers "equality for mudbloods and their lot, disgusting really." 

There were lots of rumours about Caius Rookwood circulating the wizarding world at the time, including one that he’d taken up practicing muggle religion, I interrupt to ask him if these rumours were true.

"He was curious, I think, about the way muggle religion worked and whether it borrowed from magic - whether it was a form of bastardized magic they used. As I said, sickening. As if they could ever have magic," he snorts and shrugs carelessly.

It would seem there was very little love lost between Augustus and his father. I question him about this and he laughs long and harsh before he answers my question.

"I mean, I suppose there was a time when I idolized him and certainly, I owe most of my library," he makes a grand sweeping gesture at the empty walls, cryptic utterings by previous prisoners etched into the stone, "As you can see," he grins, "We all outgrow our idols, I just outgrew mine more violently than most."

Some people say  Augustus Rookwood armtwisted The Boy Who Lived into reopening investigations into the murder of his father so many years ago. I ask him if this is true and why, if they are, he called for this reinvestigation if he cared so little for his father.

"Fame," he answers succinctly, then tilts his head as he elucidates, "I don’t get credit for being violent or disastrously heroic enough - those awards go to Bella or Evan. Most people think of me as a harmless, if slightly eccentric and very brainy wizard, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s really rather tiresome living up to that image all the time."

It’s impossible to tell if he’s joking or if he’s being serious though the twinkle in his eye suggests the former.

"I’d like for everyone to know about my one act of heroism," he continues, "you see, I taught my father a lesson that night. Always take your children seriously, parents - my father made the mistake of dismissing me. Thought of me as a child. Naturally he wasn’t paying attention to me when I cast the Cruciatus at him.

"I killed him. I saw the chance to show You-Know-Who I was in earnest - I wasn’t  _playing_ at being grown up. What better way to show how desperately I wanted to cleanse the world of filth than by killing my father? It becomes quite difficult to ignore anyone, even a sixteen year old, when they manage something like that.”

Again, the frank and disturbing candour with which he describes this graphic act of violence, one that violates every human sensibility, makes me wonder if he is quite human after all his years in Azkaban - a thought, I suppose, that shows on my face, because he grins disarmingly and then shrugs.

"You can make all the faces you like Rita, but I did what had to be done and I did it for the good of this country, I did it to save this country from running to the mudbloods and dogs. My father was trying to push the Department of Mysteries to set apart a number of places in the department just for mudbloods. Well I wasn’t having any of that. Neither were Antinous, Charles or Joseph - quite clever at covering up, Joseph Avery, managed to find the right story to push the right person to pull Scrimgeour off the case. After that it was only a matter of getting Travers in on the case, he handled everything."

I ask him if he regrets any of this.

"You’re growing old, Rita," he jokes, laughing - though his laughter is slightly forced - "d’you mean this," he pulls his sleeve up and shows me the repulsive tattoo, "Or my father? Because," he says, rolling his sleeve down and refusing to meet my eyes, "I don’t regret either of them. They’re the only things I’m proud of."

One last question before I leave, the only things he’s proud of, or the only things he has left to be proud of?

For the first time in this interview, Mr Rookwood pauses to think, instead of offering his slick, glib replies.

"The only things I’m proud of," he says, a little too hurriedly, "the only  _meaningful_ things I’ve accomplished,” he smiles effusively, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. 

A sensational tale of family scandal, betrayal and murder - and, if Mr Rookwood is to be believed, much more like this is to follow with the release of his autobiography in a few weeks. The book, he says, reveals all the seamy, sordid tales set behind enemy lines - true stories that never made it to the pages of The Daily Prophet. If Mr Rookwood’s revelations today are anything to go by, this book will be a horrifyingly scandalous - if occasionally stomach-churning - read and I am ashamed to say, I am quite jealous that I cannot put my name to it, though, dear readers, you can bet I’ll be first in line when his book finally hits Flourish and Blotts.

 


	20. What is truth?

Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.ii:  _Request clearance for incoming letters, high security prisoner_  
 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **From:** Portia Montgomery, Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Date:** 5th August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

Congratulations Augustus, you’ve outdone yourself. I hope you’re proud. I hope you’re  _happy_ that I had to hand in my resignation today. 

 ~~Was~~   ~~I just~~   ~~I cannot believe~~

_Is it really that hard to tell them the truth for once? Does it always have to be lies and more lies?_

Portia.

 

Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.iii:  _Request clearance for outgoing letters, high security prisoner_  
 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **To:** Portia  ~~Rookwood~~  Montgomery, Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Date:** 5th August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

Excellent, you can take up gardening and eventually write the cookbook you’ve been meaning to write all your life and become a respectable member of the middle classes. 

I lie because I am, Portia. As to your other question, to quote a certain historical figure,  _what is truth_?

Your loving brother,

Augustus.


	21. Russia mobilizes

Memo from the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation  
 **To:** Minister of Magic  
 **Copy to:** Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, MI7  
 **Dispatched:** 3 AM, 11/08/2014  
 **Status:** Private

This isn’t just goblins versus purebloods anymore. It's either them or Russia.   
\- P.W.


	22. Andrei Vakhashivili

**Excerpts from the visitor’s register, Azkaban:**

**7th August 2014**

10 AM: Andrei Vakhashivili, tour of Azkaban, permission granted by Auror Potter  
11 AM: Portia Rookwood, to visit #R080421, Personal  
3 PM: Susan Bones, to visit #R080421, Ministry Business

 **8th August 2014  
** 11 AM: Portia Rookwood, to visit #R080421, Personal ****  
3 PM: Susan Bones, to visit #R080421, Ministry Business  
5 PM: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger-Weasley, Ron Weasley, to visit #R080421, Ministry Business  
6 PM: Kingsley Shacklebolt, to visit #R080421, Ministry Business

 **9th August 2014**  
10 AM: Draco Malfoy, to visit #R080421, Personal  
11 AM: Narcissa Malfoy & Andromeda Tonks, to visit #R080421, Personal  
3 PM: Susan Bones, to visit #R080421, Ministry Business

 **10th August 2014  
** 10 AM: Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt, John Dawlish, to investigate murder on premises.

* * *

 

Dear Mr Potter,

Your gossip columnists are terribly amusing, do you employ them as spies with your MI7? They seem to have all taken, er, a shine to me. Quite inconvenient, you see, possibly a violation of the Statute of Secrecy. I  _am_ after all visiting friends in Belgravia, in mufti as a muggle. Do find a way to chivvy your Auror department into calling them off me?

On another note, I visited Azkaban the other day. Excellent work, do give my congratulations to Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Such a capable young woman.

Yours truly,

Andrei Vakhashivili

Draco,

You might to warn your Potter - the Winter Order has a terrible temper when roused. 

Yours,  
Corvus.

 

Corv,

He isn’t  _my_ Potter. He’s  _a_ Potter. Have passed on your ominous sounding warnings.

Yours,  
Draco.

 


	23. A murder is announced

 From:  _Special_ _Evening Edition of The Daily Prophet_ dated 10/08/2014 _._

 **MURDER IN AZKABAN!  
** Death eater Augustus Rookwood found murdered in cell, Auror Adam Smith held for questioning

_By a staff reporter,  
North Sea_

A serious lapse in security measures in Azkaban has led to the murder of Death Eater Augustus Rookwood. Augustus Rookwood, under investigation for his role in the murder of his father, was found frozen to death in his cell today at 10 AM by Auror Amanda Brocklehurst. An investigating Auror team led by former Aurors Minister Shacklebolt, Rufus Scrimgeour and John Dawlish suspects foul play with the use of a poison that simulates the effects of frostbite. The exact time of Rookwood’s death is uncertain, fixed approximately between 7 PM last night and 10 AM this morning. The Ministry has called for an inquiry into security procedures at Azkaban following news of Rookwod’s death.

Auror Adam Smith, formerly in charge of the Auror unit at Azkaban has been arrested and taken away for questioning concerning this gross security violation at Azkaban and the possibility of his having played a part in this murder. Auror Smith refused to answer any questions, maintaining that he had nothing to do with the death of Augustus Rookwood though “he bloody well wished he had”. 

Augustus Rookwood was to testify today in the Wizengamot concerning the events surrounding the murder of his father Caius Rookwood on 28th December 1968. The Minister of Magic has released an official statement saying that the trial will continue as planned, with the Wizengamot using evidence gathered by Auror Bones over the course of her investigations. Former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Portia Rookwood, will be there to testify before the Wizengamot as will several other witnesses the Ministry has refused to name.

More as this story develops.

* * *

 

Form 67 Section B Subsection C.I.iii:  _Request clearance for outgoing letters, high security prisoner_  
 **Prisoner No.:**  R080421  
 **To:** Portia  ~~Rookwood~~  Montgomery, Hoxheath, Cambridgeshire  
 **Date:** 9th August 2014  
 **Approved:**  
[sign]  
Auror Adam Smith  
Head, Unit 9, Azkaban

Sister dearest,

Riddle me this: what sort of man requires three days to be laid in a grave?

The answer, of course, which you wouldn’t know, darling Gryffindor that you are, is a special sort of saviour.

Mother used to say the knocker on the Ravenclaw dorm room was a seer. Nonsense, father used to tell her, don’t teach the boy superstitious rubbish. It always used to ask me this question. What takes three days to lay in the grave? Imagine eleven year old me, baffled by it. Its how I met Freddie. And if I hadn’t met him, I would have never met  _him_. Things would have turned out quite differently. I would have been plain Mr Dash of Nowhere In Particular, a learned man and nothing more and maybe, maybe I would have grown up and wifed and had an heir and a spare and you would still have a job.

So I suppose there is something to be said for mother’s pet theory after all.

If you want to know at whose door to lay the blame for your seclusion in the countryside, it’s the Ravenclaw knocker. Don’t worry dear you’ll make a charming country maid.

~~Never~~

~~I’m s~~

~~P~~

~~Did you really mean~~

~~Would he be~~

I wish you and Charles the very best. I am very sorry for everything.

Your loving brother,  
\- Augustus.


	24. Goblins ahoy!

Memos from various Departments from the Ministry of Magic  
 **To:** the Office of the Permanent Private Secretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
 **Dispatched between:** 8 - 8:15 AM, 11th of August 2014.  
 **Status:** Private

Well that went well, wouldn’t you agree, Hermione?  
\- Harry

Charming work, Hermione. Do keep it up. At this rate there won’t be an England to talk of.  
\- Kingsley

Excellent work. Press flocking around office. Send details about bill ASAP. Fantastic opportunity for PR. Also for starting 90767346th Goblin Rebellion. Lovely. You do keep us all in business.  
\- D. C.

Memos from the Office of the Permanent Private Secretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
 **To:** Various departments at the Ministry of Magic  
 **Dispatched between:** 8 - 8:15 AM, 11th of August 2014.  
 **Status:** Private

Your persiflage does not amuse.  
\- Hermione

* * *

 

Memos between the Office of the Permanent Private Secretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement & the Head of Auror Office  
 **Dispatched between:** 8:15 - 8:30 PM, 10th of August 2014.  
 **Status:** Private

I can’t believe you let Vakhashivili go visit Azkaban! Do I  _really_ have to do everything for you and Ron?  
\- Hermione

Believe it or not, I didn’t sign that slip.   
\- Harry

Oh.  _Oh._ _Oh no.  
- _Hermione


	25. With friends like these, who needs enemies?

Zabini,

You knew about this, didn’t you?

Draco.

Malfoy,

I don’t know what you’re talking about. If your English Ministry is bent on being ridiculous arses, then it’s all you deserve.

Blaise.

Zabini,

I wasn’t talking about the shutdown at Gringotts or the goblin strike, I saw that coming from miles away. I’m talking murder most foul.

Malfoy.

Draco,

My lips are sealed.

Blaise.

* * *

 

Draco,

Not so chirpy now are we? Got our own troubles have we? Can’t access the Malfoy family vaults? That must be  _so horrible_.

Corvus.

Corv,

Piss off. Also, why the bloody hell are the birds bringing your letters some form of tropical exotica?

Draco.

Draco,

Ask your dumb English Ministry why.

Corvus.

* * *

 

Dear Sofia,

I am delighted to tell you that conditions at Azkaban have, indeed, improved. Their food is really quite excellent, they do know how to take care of their prisoners, these English. You’ll be glad to know that our dear friend is being quite well looked after.

Your loving brother,  
Andrei Vakhashivili

* * *

 

Dear mama,

I’m writing to you to inform you that the Malfoys suspect something, quite possibly might be preparing to sell information to the Ministry.

Your loving son,  
Blaise

Blaise dear,

The Ministry knows perfectly well "what's what", as you English say, and have taken the warning, or at least Mr Weasley and Mr Macmillan have taken the warning and conveyed it to their superiors. There is no doubt they know, there is no profit the Malfoys can make out of this. Do not worry yourself dear, we have it all in hand.

With love,  
Your devoted mother.


	26. The Mysterious Mr Vakhashivili

Auror Report  
 **Date:** 10 August 2014  
 **Location:** Azkaban, North Sea  
 **Complainant:** Auror Smith  
 **Complaint:** Death of prisoner, unnatural means  
 **Investigated by:** Auror Brown & Auror Boot  
 **Time:** 10 AM

**Witness reports:**

At 10 AM Auror Smith flooed office reporting the death of Augustus Rookwood. Auror Smith described Rookwood’s body as being frozen solid, slightly discoloured - bluish purple.

Follow up calls for investigation by more experienced team. Auror Smith and Auror Brockelhurst held for questioning.

 **Actions taken:** File for Form 130 under Auror Procedure Guidelines, investigation of murder.  
 **Status:** Pending.

Form 130: Investigation for Murder  
 **Date:** 9 August 2014  
 **Location:** Azkaban, North Sea  
 **Victim name:** Augustus Rookwood  
 **Cause of death:** Unknown, possibilities include Frostbite curse and/or use of poison.  
 **Description:** Victim found lying on the floor of cell, frozen solid. Flesh discoloured, bluish-purple in colour.  
 **Investigating Aurors:** Kingsley Shacklebolt, Rufus Scrimgeour, John Dawlish  
 **Notes:** Death suspected to have occurred between 10 PM and 10 AM

* * *

  **Excerpts from the statement of Adam Smith**

I was sitting in my office when Ms. Brocklehurst came running in calling me to see what had happened. I found Mr Rookwood’s body lying on the floor of the cell and instantly contacted the Auror Department, without touching any of the items in the cell, or moving anything. 

_…._

[ _On being asked about the visit of Mr Vakhashivili_ ]

I did not know that Mr Vakhashivili was not granted permission to visit Azkaban - or that he had not applied for permission. The signature on the paper was all in order - tested for the usual forgery procedures. The spell-test results were clear, therefore Mr Vakhashivili was cleared for a tour of Azkaban. It did seem a bit odd to me, but I assumed Auror Potter knew what he was on about. … Mr Vakhashivili did seem particularly fascinated with our kitchens and insisted on opening and smelling all the food being prepared. He also insisted on seeing the high security prisoner facilities.

[ _On being asked if he was involved in Mr Rookwood’s death_ ]

Merlin, I had nothing to do with his death. I mean, he’s been nothing but trouble since he landed up here, always whining about how it’s all unfair, but to kill him? Merlin man, don’t you think I know the law?

* * *

**Excerpts from the statement of Andrei Vakhashivili:**

Oh, my visit was purely casual. The Russian Ministry is very interested in all the work your Ministry has been doing to reform Azkaban, finds it quite inspirational. We have been thinking of introducing some of your reforms ourselves. The kitchens were particularly fascinating, such effort, your house elves put, into preparing food for criminals - never seen anything like it anywhere else in the world.

[ _On being asked about his tour of the high security prisoner holding facilities_ ]

Ah yes, I was interested in seeing how you kept your dangerous men safe from the world without the help of those barbaric creatures you used to use - what were they called? Dementors? Yes, dementors. Fascinating, fascinating. You English have managed quite excellently, so glad to see my dear friend Mr Rookwood so well cared for. An example to us all, I’m sure. 

* * *

**Excerpts from the statement of Susan Bones:**

Mr Rookwood did seem stranger than usual, kept talking about three days for a grave - something odd like that, I didn’t pay attention to it, he often talked like that to deflect your attention when he didn’t want to answer your questions. Did I hate him enough to want to poison him? No. He was pathetic, more than anything else. I don’t think there was anything dangerous left to him, so to speak.


	27. The Daily Prophet under siege

I am frankly disturbed that The Prophet pays Rita Skeeter to write such ridiculous tripe. I can assure you that young Mr Rookwood could hardly have murdered his father for the reasons Ms. Skeeter seems to believe he had - I know this as I was the very Auror who questioned him after the crime had been committed and it is based on my field notes at the time that Auror Potter reopened investigations, having noted discrepancies between my notes and the notes of well-known Death Eater and former Auror Travers. Young Mr Rookwood hardly had the nerve to manage such a feat on his own initiative, let alone revel in it. I am almost certain the true story is far more sensational -  and I am certain that Auror Bones’ most excellent investigative work will reveal the true truth in the Wizengamot hearing.

Perhaps it is time for this paper to employ a suitable group of fact-checkers, trained by the Auror department, before they choose to run such scurrilous nonsense and call it  _journalism_. This would have never have done at all in my day. I am seriously considering cancelling my subscription to this paper and subscribing to The Quibbler instead.

Mr Rufus Scrimgeour, Appleby

* * *

 My brother was  _not_ a murderer and I would kindly thank the Prophet if they checked their facts before running such nonsensical rubbish to drive up readership among those with a predilection for sensational journalism.

Mrs Portia Montgomery, Hoxheath

* * *

 You make a remarkable assertion on page 19 of the Daily Prophet edition dated 11th August 2014, that Draco Malfoy has been threatening Auror Potter over the matter of the publication of the memoirs of Augustus Rookwood. I would kindly request the Prophet to contact us before printing such statements or else I will be forced to contact my lawyers and put them in touch with you.

Mrs Narcissa Malfoy, Wiltshire

* * *

 I am amused that The Prophet finds a fifty year old murder so enthralling that it requires a front page spread and several pages inside to cover it, while the ongoing Goblin riots in Germany receives only a paragraph in coverage, buried all the way on page 33.

Mr John Hope, Manchester City

* * *

Amazing. The Prophet never ceases to astound me with its unparalleled coverage of current events. I expect, any day now, to open the pages of this paper and find a serialization of M. de Gardiner’s thrillers published under the guise of Breaking News, Brought To You Live By The Prophet.

S.O.B, Manchester City


	28. Memory

**Wizengamot session, 11th August 2014  
** **Subject of hearing:** Murder of Caius Rookwood, 28th December 1968.  
 **Time:** 11 AM  
 **Proxies:**  None  
 **Transcribed:** T. Higgs  
 **Notes:**   _Irregular introduction of pensieve material as primary witness._

* * *

 Memory, memory is a precious, intimate thing, fleeting, always changing. What is truth, in a memory? People misremember facts, misremember events. One witness crosses the other. A blue car, or a red one? It is so hard to remember. Important details such as who said what and when and why are blurred with time and all that remains is a rough approximation of what once happened, what one thought happened.

Yet here they are, trying to unravel the threads of a murder that happened nearly fifty years ago, relying on nothing but memory and secondhand history to tell them what really happened.

Susan Bones pours the silvery liquid into the Pensieve. They watch as it pools and then disperses, as dark shapes and forms appear and solidify out of nowehere. Until nearly a hundred of them are there in that room, looking through the memories of Augustus Rookwood.

The first memories flip by swiftly. A man who looks almost like Augustus, but thicker in form, sterner yet kindlier - a face untouched by the ravages of war - scribbles away at his desk.  _No no, Helena stop troubling me, this is important, don’t you understand? It could completely change the way we think about magic - what good is lunch going to do me, no, no, leave me alone, good heavens you women are all alike, pestering us for this and that, I’m all right, this is far more important, tell the tradesmen we’ll pay them next month_.

A boy, young and handsome and not-quite cruel but arrogant, tilting his head and laying it on the shoulder of a much younger Augustus, smiling winsomely,  _don’t be such a fusspot Gus, it’s only one spell, it’s not like the Ministry’ll ever know._

Red. A rabbit lies twitching on the ground, squealing shrilly in distress. Rodolphus claps Augustus on his back,  _there I knew we could do it_ , he kicks the rabbit away, but Augustus stands there, his knuckles growing whiter and whiter, then looks up and smiles shakily,  _yeah_ ,  _yeah_.

Caius Rookwood, careworn,  _bloody bastards at the DoM care only for their comforts_ , a pretty lady, slightly pregnant, massages his neck and tuts in commiseration.  _They ought to be crowing in delight over these findings, I don’t know what’s bitten them, them and their ridiculous politics. I don’t care, Helena, I’m going to write them a letter to tell them exactly what I think of them and their pusillanimity and if they won’t publish this, I’ll go elsewhere_.  _Merlin, they’re so blind, can’t they see? Can’t they see?_

__

(Everyone in the courtroom sees, the way he will not look at his son, the way he talks around his son, only to his wife.)

_Coward_ , spits Rodolphus,  _coward. I’m not a coward. Then do it for fuck’s sake, don’t be a nancy_. Green. Silence. None of those tortured squeals. More slapping on the back. Another false smile. 

Three men cloaked in black come knocking on the door. Caius Rookwood sends Helena out of the room, she drags her son with her. Raised voices from the hallway.  _Oh Merlin, Caius why can’t you be a little less obstinate? Why can’t you just give in?_ Helena sighs,  _we should go before they find us._ She throws floo powder on the fire and steps in, mouthing the directions to her sister’s home, but before she can drag her son along with her, he pulls back and she is gone. He puts the fire out and goes back out.

_I saw the chance to show You-Know-Who I was in earnest - I wasn’t playing at being grown up. What better way to show how desperately I wanted to cleanse the world of filth than by killing my father?_

(Nobody says it, but they all think it. They have all read Skeeter’s article, though some will turn up their nose and pretend not to have when asked.)

He goes down the stairs, his wand drawn out. 

There he is, sixteen years old and young,  _so young_ , clutching his wand with fierce desperation even as his body twitches and writhes on the floor. On and on and on it goes until the white hot flames of the fire turn cold and hot and then cold and he is twisted and untwisted and made and remade and knit and unknitted several times over in the hand of some careless cosmic being who cares nothing for the shattering of a bone here, the tearing of a muscle there, the rupturing of a nerve or a broken mind. 

There is blood, blood everywhere, dark and warm and coppery, sticky, blood and yesterday’s dinner and shit and intestines spilled everywhere. Caius Rookwood is lying on the floor, gasping for breath in short spurts, fingers curling inwards and scratching the parquet floor.

He screams and screams as long as his lungs allow him.

The man clad in black, hauls him roughly to his feet, “Do it,” the man commands.

He shakes his head, “Go away,” he sobs hoarsely, “Let me go.”

“Do it,” his father says, toneless, breathless.

He screws his eyes shut.

The man jerks his arm roughly and he shrieks.

“Crucio,” he sobs, pointing his wand at his father. His father grunts as the curse hits him and he exhales in pain, sweat beads rolling down his forehead, but it isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

The man snarls in his ear, “You have to mean it, boy. Look at him and remember,” he pauses and then whispers, “Look at him. He cares about his research. Not you, not his wife, not his unborn child, not people. Cogs and wheels and whirring thoughts - that’s all he cares about.

“When has he ever listened to you?” the man smiles, cold blue eyes, “When was the last time he looked at you and saw his son, not a stranger sitting in your place? When was the last time he looked at you and knew you?” he pauses and then mouths, “Acknowledged you?

“He loathes you,” the man whispers, “Can’t you see it? Despises you. And who wouldn’t, filth? Who wouldn’t despise you, degraded, perverted, animal that -”

“Crucio,” he roars, cutting the man off before he can say it, hatred like fierce red flames rising up inside him, “Crucio,” he cries.

His father falls to the ground screaming, the man throws his head back and laughs triumphantly - Antinous Lestrange, the crowd feels vaguely uncomfortable, this is a  _private_ moment, they ought not to watch this.

“Again,” he commands.

“Please,” tears are streaming down his face, “It’s Christmastime”.

“Again.” 

“Crucio,” he whispers, as the two men standing idly by, shift uncomfortably, yet do not raise their wands to help him.

“Now tell us,” says Antinous, “Where are the papers?”

Caius Rookwood remains silent and fixes his eyes on the ceiling.

The other man turns - a gasp from the crowd, Charles Nott, of all the people - and looks at the carefully hooded man. 

"You can’t leave them," says the man underneath the hood, "Kill them."

Charles draws his wand and although there is discomfort writ large upon his face, he prepares to say the spell.

“Stop,” says Antinous, “Let him do it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” Antinous replies, “You can, you will. For yourself. For your mother and her unborn child. And you will never tell. Unless you want to hurt them. Unless you want to see them lying on the floor, bleeding like stuck pigs.”

Augustus looks down at his father, poor man breathing with great difficulty. His father looks at him and nods. 

Green. Silence. Caius breathes no more. The two leave and Antinous turns to Augustus as if to say,  _mark this, mark this boy. If you fight us, this too will be your fate. If you so much as breathe a word, this will be you, your mother and your unborn sibling lying there._

When they have left, Augustus falls to the floor and sobs over his father’s dead body.


	29. The death of a dream

Dear Mr Weasley,

It is not a habit of ours to dictate how other ministries run their countries as you are well aware, given our current position in the International Federation of Wizards concerning political interference in currently conflict ridden areas. We feel that this sets a bad precedent for political interactions between nation-states and leads to an erosion of sovereignty in the eyes of the people of a nation. A government must be seen to hold its own in the eyes of its people in order for it to maintain law and order within its borders.

In the past few weeks, it has come to our attention, however, that the British Minister of Magic has greenlighted the publication of the Memoirs of a former Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood and we feel that it is necessary to warn the Ministry against deciding to make this autobiography available to the public. We have received intimation from highly reliable sources, that this autobiography contains sensitive information which could seriously harm our interests and moreover, could put some of our key agents at risk in their current positions. 

While we are against the censorship of information and firmly believe that the people of a country have the right to know the truth about their governments, we find it necessary to advise you against publishing this autobiography. In case of its being published, we will find it necessary to take serious action against the government of Britain, in order to protect our own citizens from any potential negative backlash that could be caused by the publication of this book.

We hope you understand our plight and request you to consider this letter in the spirit of friendly camaraderie that has governed interactions between our Ministries in the past.

Regards,  
Ivan Mikhailovich  
Minister of International Magical Cooperation

* * *

Dear Mr Potter,

I’m disappointed in you. Goblin riots pushed all the way to page 33? Tut tut. I thought you had a dream. 

Yours,  
Mr John Hope


	30. Oh what a tangled web we weave!

From:  _The Daily Prophet_ dated 11/08/2014

 **AUROR ARRESTED FOR MURDER  
** FORMER AUROR ADAM SMITH ARRESTED FOR MURDER OF DEATH EATER AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD

_By a Staff Reporter,  
London_

Former Auror, Adam Smith, has confessed to murdering Death Eater Augustus Rookwood while at Azkaban. In his confession he claims to have slipped a slow-working variant of the  _Glacius_  poison into the Death Eater’s meals to weaken him over time. The final dose was administered during dinner time and took approximately six hours to act and kill the Death Eater. Mr Smith states that the murder was justified because “this policy of mercy business is bullshit, killers like him deserve real justice, not this namby-pamby rubbish.” Mr Smith has been sentenced to life imprisonment for premeditated murder by an emergency meeting of the council heads of the Wizengamot.

Mr Smith was taken into custody yesterday morning for questioning by the Auror Department over his possible involvement in the murder of Death Eater Augustus Rookwood. Augustus Rookwood was found frozen to death in his cell at 10 AM by Auror Brocklehurst who was on her morning rounds of the prison. Mr Smith, who formerly oversaw all security personnel at Azkaban, was relieved of his duties by Auror Montgomery in lieu of his being taken into custody for questioning. Auror Montgomery has now officially been made head of all the security personnel at Azkaban and Mr Smith has been stripped of all his titles and his Aurorship.

Mr Smith’s family has not yet made a statement to the press, though his youngest brother Zacharias Smith was reportedly seen storming out of the Ministry early today morning, following the emergency meeting of the Wizengamot.

* * *

From:  _The Daily Prophet, page 33,_ dated 11/08/2014

**We want wands: Goblins on strike**

_By a staff reporter,  
_ _London_

For the first time in three hundred years, Gringotts has shut its doors to the public and refuses to do business. This, despite measures by the Ministry to improve the rights of Goblins, by the introduction of Mrs Granger-Weasley’s comprehensive new draft legislation,  _Policy for the Promotion of the Welfare of Sentient Magical Beings._  The Goblins have declared an intention to keep the doors of Gringotts shut until they are finally allowed to carry wands and are granted complete autonomy in the administration of Gringotts. In the hour following the announcement the Galleon dropped by nearly 30 points before stabilizing and then gaining 5 points. The last time Gringotts shut its doors was on the 5th of November, 1792, during the goblin rebellions of Urg the Unclean. The economy of wizarding Britain was thrown into a recession that took nearly twenty years to recover from.


	31. A tricky matter of justice

**Wizengamot session, 11th August 2014**  
 **Subject of hearing:**  Murder of Caius Rookwood, 28th December 1968.  
 **Time:**  11 AM  
 **Proxies:**  None  
 **Transcribed:**  T. Higgs

* * *

 

**Excerpts from the testimony of Rufus Scrimgeour, investigating Auror**

[I was]the  _original_ investigating auror. I was pulled from the case and sent into the field to deal with rising violence against Squibs in London by the Private Secretary at the time, Henry Mulciber. …. Nothing remarkable about the procedure. Aurors get pulled from cases all the time.He [Auror Travers] was a Death Eater. [Q: He was a criminal himself?] That’s generally the idea, yes. … He suggested I take a few lessons in human behaviour. If I’d listened I’d have caught him much faster. … There almost certainly’d been use of dark magic to kill Mr Rookwood, probably the killing curse. Unusual for muggle tramps, I’d say. … Young Mr Rookwood’s footprints [were found] near the body. Blood and mud on Mr Rookwood’s clothes and boots. … Contrary to popular belief, I am  _not_ an unfeeling machine. Mr Rookwood was clearly too disturbed to answer questions coherently at the time. I was pulled from the case before I could question him again.

**Excerpt from the testimony of Portia Montgomery, daughter of the deceased.**

**Question:** Did your brother ever express guilt over his father’s death?

 **Answer:** Yes.

 **Question:** What did he say?

 **Answer:** That he’d murdered him.

 **Question:** Why didn’t you tell the Auror department?

 **Answer:** Why do you think?

 **Question:** Answer the question Mrs Montgomery.

 **Answer:** Because it’s a joke. Real murderers go free; dangerous men like Evan - 

 **Head of the Wizengamot:** Thank you Mrs Montgomery, that will do.

**Excerpt from the testimony of Helena Rookwood, wife of deceased**

[I was] visiting my sister, Claudia. [Q: can anyone corroborate this?] Claudia. Her son, if you can find him. …I don’t know where he was. At home. He should have come with me. [Q: did he ever tell you what happened that night?] Yes and no. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, but he was my  _son_. … Never when he was awake or sober. … Yes and no, Merlin do you people have no sympathy? He never talked about it, how could he? But he’d talk in his sleep and scream. He’d talk about it all the time when he was sick and fever-dreaming. He’d talk about it when he was drunk. Everyone talked about it,  _everyone_ , there’s not a  _person_ in this damned courtroom who was there at the time who hasn’t heard the rumours, hasn’t heard the story of how the Rookwood family made the mistake of crossing the Knights of bloody Walpurgis and how they paid for it and you have the audacity, the  _temerity_ to ask us whether he murdered his father and told us about it. Well I’ll tell you what murder looks like, it looks like a scared young boy, not even old enough to Apparate being forced to kill his father in order to protect his family - is that what you want? He cast the curse, of course he cast the curse, it was that  _family_ , that arrogant, pompous, snotty family and  _you_ pardoned their sons and cousins.  _Everyone_ knew the rumours about that  _family_. Mr Scrimgeour, Mr Moody, Ms Bones, Mr Weasley -  _all of them_  - and  _none_ of them, not _one_ of them did anything about it, everyone  _bought_ their lies because it was convenient and you expect to have me sit here and testify against my own son for  _justice_ or whatever it is you pretend to uphold when it’s all a bloody ridiculous  _farce?_


	32. Ne travaillez jamais

Speech delivered in Gringotts, 11th August 2014 by the head goblin Gripnuk.

* * *

 

They stole from us.

They came to us, to our city of Krarivarendium, deep in the hearts of the earth where our great forges lay. Gold we forged, silver was our plaything and bronze was the plating we used to plate our halls. And jewels, such jewels! the likes of which the world will never see again; real, living jewels possessing a light of their own. There were weapons too. Swords, axes, daggers, shields. Why should there have been no weapons? Was it our own savage nature that lead us to make them or the joy of making? There were things of peace too. Jewelry, uncursed - the cursed ones; that is an invention of wizards, full of hate, always looking to see whom they may step on to climb their ladder - cups, plates, candlesticks, chandeliers, pillars, statues, horns, lyres, harps, flutes. More peace than war.

Aye, but they came to us and cared not for our cups, plates, statues and instruments. What do they care about cups and plates? They eat their food from wood and drink from clay and call themselves civilized. Intelligent. Worthy. Rulers of all the earth. But they live as only the poorest of us dares to live. That is a story for a different day; of Krarivarendium in the days of its glories, when Grimug the Great sat on his throne and the rivers of the city flowed with gold, not water and jewels grew on trees, ripe for the plucking - those are stories worth hearing indeed, not these tales of treachery and falsehood, so common to all our tales about the  _wix_.

Their eyes turned to our weapons. You see it was a time of great war amongst the men who lived above the earth. Great armies marched across the face of the earth. Sometimes we could smell the blood, it would drip through our ceilings and soak our walls. We plated our walls with bronze. Savages. Uncaring for the earth, only the loud thump-thump of hooves and feet marching from here to there, conquering, conquering, conquering. Sometimes they would pay us for our weapons and so we would take their gold. The lands were theirs to mine as much as ours and gold was not easily come by. The coins we melted in our forges and purified and beat into new forms.

Greedy, like all of them. Greedy and unimaginative, but they knew how to speak well and listened carefully when we spoke, watched in silence as we showed them, asked questions - clever questions - so we took them as our own. Foolishly so, but the world was still young then and we had not yet learnt of the despicable depths to which the minds of men could stoop. Alongside us they worked, copying, creating, but they would never match our skill and how we prided ourselves on it. Short in stature we were, but in the forge what did height matter when only skill could set us apart?

Then one day they left. As swift as they came. Not so much as a thank you or god be with ye. For all we had taught them they left us nothing in return. No parting tokens to show us their esteem. Perhaps they did not esteem us as much as we once thought. Perhaps they had never held us in their esteem at all. Perhaps they simply despised us for we were not as tall as they, or well formed as they. We are short and  _swarthy_ , they call us,  _ill-favoured_. Because we are ill-favoured in their eyes they despise us - and still despise us. Foul-hearted and despicable they call us, but only because our faces are so in their eyes - and more, but I digress again, forgive me, our ugliness will come into play again.

Not only had they left without a warning. No, they had taken our books, the great books within which we wrote our spells and magics; all the secrets we had painstakingly uncovered over centuries and millennia - all of it gone and all our halls ablaze with a bewitched fire that could not be touched by water, nor by any of the spells we used to put our fires out. In a matter of moments the great goblin city of Krarivarendium, the only one of its kind in all the world, was burnt to the ground and only a few fortunate ones escaped with nought but the shirts on their backs and mere memory to serve them in the days to come.

 _Mulciber_  they call themselves today. Servants of the devil himself. There was no justice for us. The kings in their great marble halls laughed at us and threw us to the lions in their great circuses. For sport, for amusement, for barbaric pleasure. These were the great kings of their times,  _gods_  they called themselves. Julius. Augustus. Tiberius.

No, we had nothing; no place to rest our heads, no books recording our magic or our history. But we had our wits, we had our fingers, we had our imagination and we had our magic. We worked our way up, with nothing but what we could lay our hands on. Aye, we tricked and treated, deceived and lied so we could find ourselves gold to work in our tiny forges. But we too had been tricked and deceived, no justice for the wrongs against us. This was our justice. One wrong to cancel out another wrong.

We made beautiful things again. Swords, shields, cups, necklaces. Coins. Coins enough to fill mountains, to fill the depths of the earth. But though we had made it, they were not ours to keep. They paid us money and then passed it, hand to hand, never once giving us our dues. Cheats and liars, they are, even their greatest heroes.

Yet they are foolish also. Soon we found ourselves power,  _graciously_ given to us by the very people who had destroyed our great city. But we took it, because we had nothing.  _Beings_ , they call us and count it merciful on their part to call us so. They take our coins but will not touch our hands and if they do, they cringe; great wizards and witches in their lavishly decorated robes - that gold filligree is _ours_ but they do  not know it - who will not deign to treat with us because we do not look like them. They take our jewels, our swords and then laugh in our faces when we demand a price -  _it is ours now_. But it is ours, we made it, we poured ourselves into it. They understand but one form of ownership: if they have laid their hands upon it, it is theirs.

They come to our banks, but they will not look at our faces. They make us promises which they will not keep.  _We will give you wands_ , they say and with their other hand they write us rules, hundreds of rules which we must abide by if we are to use those wands. But we were there when the first wands were made and we remember to whom they were given. Thieves, murderers and criminals. They will sneer, they will raised their kerchiefs to their delicate little noses, they will command us as though we are their servants but they do not know.  _They do not know_.

We have power. We own their banks. We own their money. We make their coins. We make their weapons. They have grown lazy. They have forgotten how to make for themselves. They do not know how to cook, how to mint their money and raise their arms for war. They have only their wands, which they will not give us. But we have more. We have the  _truth_ , we have  _power_.

Remember the Sack of Krarivarendium. They sing of it as a noble battle: but we know the truth! Remember Ragnuk the First. They call Godric Gryffindor a hero: but we know the truth! Remember 1631. They tell us we ought to be glad we are beings:  _but_ _we know the truth_! Remember Urg, remember Nagnok, remember Hodrod!Remember Griphook! They worship the Boy Who Lived:  _but we know the truth_!

Goblins of Britain, my friends, my brothers - this is our history. This is our story. From land to land we have run, looking for justice and met only with cruelty because we are ugly because we are short of stature: because we do not look like them. We have been the butt of their jokes. The villains of their stories, seducing poor innocent maidens, bankrupting noble young wizards and deceiving princesses. But no more.  _No more_.

We have power, let us use this power to take back what is  _ours_.

Goblins of Britain unite! This is our hour! We will show the deceivers what it means to be truly deceived! Let us show them the hollow lies of the world they have made for themselves, let us show them truth: let us show them our power! Let us join with our continental brothers and shut the doors of Gringotts until they come to us humbled and begging, until they understand what it means to have nothing but the shirts on their backs! Long have they looked down their powdered noses at us, let them now look up to us and raise their hands and beg for mercy! Let them see their world fall!

_Kyrfuonkur Krarivarendium!_

 


	33. When ministry men grow sick

Harry leafs through the letters he’s holding in his hands. Seven.  _Seven_ different people, all looking to upset their finely balanced system. And there’s at least three books on his table weighing on his mind in the same way that albatrosses weigh on the minds of sailors.

 _The world’s not in your books and maps. It’s out there_.

But that isn’t true is it? If it was, why would those three books matter so much? Why would they be sitting here, on the eve of what promises to be the biggest riot Magical Britain has seen in centuries?

 _It isn’t fair_ , he starts to whine, then stops himself. This isn’t what they’d fought for either. Not for stability. Not so that Brutus Flint could continue on in the Goblin Liaison Office, blocking every reform with his hems and haws and his favourite line: “give them a knut and they’ll take you for every galleon you’ve got.” Not so that Narcissa Malfoy could send threatening letters to The Daily Prophet for speculating that Draco Malfoy had perhaps a bit more influence than anyone with those horrid marks on their left arms deserved.

Certainly not so that he stayed up at night worrying about whether or not his next move would be met by at least three Howlers from an irate Draco Malfoy.

He looks through his letters again. One from Rolf Scamander, politely refusing to call his monograph back from the publishers -  _it isn’t fair to Luna or myself to demand we put aside years of hard work so that the Ministry can continue to thrive in stability_. One from Theodore Nott - _Dear Harry, I understand that you feel that publishing my father’s papers could cause public unrest but_ someone  _has to tell the truth at some point or the other_. One from Zacharias Smith - _how could you Harry?_  One from the elusive John Hope -  _this isn’t what you fought for_. _  
_

"It’s a mid-life crisis," says Hermione decisively, "Of course it would be."

"No," says Ron, "I mean. Don’t you feel it too?"

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"I mean. SPEW. You don’t talk about it anymore."

Hermione crumples. A little. “It’s not like I’ve had the time.”

"I don’t think it’s about the  _time_ ,” Harry says, finally, placing the letters on his desk, “It’s just. I feel dirty. Uncomfortable. We’ve just become part of it. When we weren’t watching.”

"I thought we could change it from inside," Hermione says eventually, "That’s how they always do it."

"In the books. And stories."

Hermione doesn’t need to say it. They all think it.  _But it felt like we were living in a book_.

But no, that’s not true either. That’s what the history books have told him. That’s what years of muddied memories have done to them.

"So what happens now?" Ron asks them, idly flipping through the manuscript Luna has sent Harry to read through.

"We tell Kingsley," says Harry, "We’re not here for this."

Ron drops the manuscript and eyes him incredulously, “You’re the  _Head_ auror,” he says accusatorily.

"I know," Harry snaps, "And I sent an  _innocent_ man to Azkaban because I  _couldn’t arrest the real murderer,_ " he waves ineffectually at his desk, "Couldn’t it be simple for once?"

Hermione pats his head fondly and Ron, ever straightforward says, “Nah.”

"I mean," says Harry, "We came here for this, right?" He punches Hermione lightly on the shoulder, "We could reinvent SPEW. Rope in Rolf and Luna and the rest of the lot."

Hermione looks at Ron and Ron shrugs.

"Well," says Hermione, "We’ve got the Goblins and Centaurs Act to clear; I’ve got a draft copy in my desk, we could probably force it through this week if we badger Kingsley enough or if you make enough noise about quitting - we could ask Luna and Rolf to talk to the Goblin and Centaur representatives, the Goblins aren’t fond of you, Harry; and then there’s the House Elf Liberation Front Act that I’ve been working on for months now, which should legalize all house elf led liberation movements and ought to improve the rights of working house elves. We could lead a campaign for the reform of diplomatic immunity rights too -"

Harry and Ron exchange glances and Ron smirks.

"Easy there, Hermione," he drawls, "First things first."

She looks at him and then Harry, “Oh. You mean the _papers._ I thought everyone knew about them.”

Ron rolls his eyes, “Not everyone reads all the way to page 33 of The Prophet, Hermione.”

Harry shrugs, “We’ll just  _make sure_ they know this time.”

And by the way her face lights up and the way Ron looks that much happier, Harry knows this is the right decision, even if it’s going to be hell for -

Well he doesn’t know. Weeks. Months. Years. But it’s time to rewrite their books. Correctly.


	34. The winds of change

_Dear Zach,_

Adam pauses and gnaws on the end of his quill -  _you’ll get ink in your mouth if you keep doing that_ \- wondering what he could possibly say to stop his brother from doing whatever it is he’s planning on doing.

(Of course Zach has something up his sleeve. He’s been quiet  _far_ too long.)

_It’s all fine, I’m only here because we don’t want war with the Russians._

_I_ **agreed** _to take the fall._

_Don’t rock the boat._

He discards all of these. Merlin knows, anything he says is going to make Zacharias do something irrevocably stupid. 

In the end he settles for a simple  _don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do -_ and hopes that that will be enough.

(He’s fairly sure it isn’t, but at least mother won’t be able to lecture him about the way he lets Zach get his own way -  _it’s no use me telling him what not to do if you’re going to turn a blind eye to him!_ )

He sends it off just like that and asks Mandy if he can wash his mouth out -  _well of course you’re going to get ink in your mouth if you insist on chewing your quill; Merlin Mandy you sound like my_ **mum _._**

* * *

 

Zacharias Smith rolls his eyes and tosses his brother’s letter in the pile along with a letter from Harry, apologizing for Adam’s arrest and a promise to get him out of Azkaban.

His reply to his brother is two words long: _no fear_.


	35. From ancient grudge to new mutiny

Memos dispatched between the Office of the Minister for Magic and the Press Office   
**Dispatched:**  8:15 - 8:16 AM, 17th August 2014   
 **Status:**  Confidential

_I_ _said **total** press embargo not **press for the plebiean masses** embargo. It includes The Wixenomist._

\- K.S.

_Sorry Minister, but as of the 13th of August, The Wixenomist no longer falls under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic._

\- D.C.

* * *

August 11th, 9 PM, _Headquarters of The Wixenomist, 25 Fleet Street, Diagon Alley, London_

Augustus Blythely holds up the anonymous letter and waves it at his underlings.

"All right, which one of you _twats_ thought it’d be a lark to send me this fucking rubbish?”

August 12th, 12 AM, _Headquarters of The Wixenomist, 25 Fleet Street, Diagon Alley, London_

"Think we can trust it, Bletchley?" Augustus says to his assistant editor.

"Um," says Miles Bletchley, "Well. It seems legally sound. But I don’t know why you’re so keen on the story. It’s not as though you know, we know, you know?"

Blythely eyes his assistant editor, “I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, “ _Cholmondeley_! What have I told you about politics, Bletchley?”

"We leave it at the door, sir?"

"And? _Cholmondeley_ , stop _dawdling_ in the doorway man - I’m waiting Bletchley.”

"We are a paper for the moneyed liberal progressive faux intellectual masses."

"Precisely.  If you want politics you can pack up and move down the road to The Quibbler or The Prophet - Cholmondeley, get a hold of the Meryton girl and ask her to call a shareholders meeting immediately, then draw up an affidavit stating we’re moving our headquarters to New York as of _now_. _Politics_ is the province of the guttersnipes and the gossip rags, yes, Bletchley? - _No I’m not done with you Cholmondeley,_ Send Prewett to the DMLE to get them signed - _no she’s not to answer any questions the Permanent Private Secretary asks her, y’hear? Nothing at all. Not a peep._ Bletchley, floo the American Office and have them get their lawyers on the job _right now, no arguments, no politics_.”

"What will you be doing, sir?" Bletchley inquires politely as the editor-in-chief of The Wixenomist pauses to take a breath.

"I," says Augustus loftily, "Will be meeting with _people_ who _know_ _people_. You have till eight in the morning. You may leave. Oh and Bletchley,”

"Yes sir?"

"Understand that if you _do_ pack up and leave, you won’t be missed.” Augustus smiles sharkishly at him, “At all.”

Miles blanches and backs out of the room hastily.

* * *

SIR -

If the editors of this magazine were so interested, they might find, hypothetically speaking, a certain loophole in the total press embargo, to publish what we know is an existing mock-up of the magazine.

It would necessitate, hypothetically, setting up an impromptu printing press in Sark or the Isle of Man - preferrably the former - from which this edition of the magazine could be printed.

We strongly suggest that if you do find this hypothetical proposition interesting, that you print a British edition of the magazine, so as to avoid any unnecessary scrutiny by the government in case they are interested - hypothetically - in knowing why a popular magazine decided to shut down operations in Britain and move to a privately owned state. You might also, if you wish, hypothetically speaking of course, officially transfer at least fifty per cent of your shares to the American wing of your operations and possibly, for security reasons, officially make New York your headquarters. If you were to approach the right people in the DMLE, such as for example, the Permanent Private Secretary - whom I understand is all for free trade and free press and tax cuts -  you might find them amenable to helping The Wixenomist get over its ‘financial difficulties’. Hypothetically speaking, you understand.

Yours,

A Well-wisher

* * *

August 12th, 3 AM, _Ministry Canteen_

"Ministry cock-ups or the truth about magic?"

"Which one’s going to cause more trouble?"

Blythely makes a face, “It’s more a matter of internal versus external affairs. Your department. Or the Auror Division.”

"Lower likelihood of my department clearing out?"

"With the second. It’s only a matter of time before it all explodes and Shacklebolt knows it. _Der Zauberspiegel_ 's already covered it.”

"Mmmm."

"You’re not going to let Shacklebolt get away with it, are you? Where’s your house pride man? Remember _1973._ ”

Scrimgeour growls at him, “Your lot was always useless.”

"I can’t believe it. After all these years and -"

"The Flint boy."

"Sorry?"

"You owe me, Blythely - you and your _petty_ Quidditch vendetta: your point of contact is the Flint boy. This is _sensitive_ information, mind, so I’ll thank you to keep both him and me out of your pages and out of the courts.”

"You know me Rufus; the soul of professional journalistic discretion."

Scrimgeour snorts, “Journalistic discretion? There’s an oxymoron if there ever was one.”

* * *

 

August 12th, 8 AM, _Number 10, Downing Street_

"What?"

Marcus Flint barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes, “The editor in chief of The Wixenomist, Prime Minister. He wants to see you. About the national emergency we talked about earlier.”

"I’m sure I appreciate the gesture, but my hands _are_ tied; if it’s a jurisdiction matter he’ll have to go through the courts - Parliament - Lords -“

"Mr Blythely, sir, is very interested in furthering magical and non-magical relations by creating an atmosphere of trust between the two halves of this country. Unfortunately, as things stand - and the actions of our er, current Minister so far has done the very _opposite_ of furthering trust between these two communities. I do believe that what Mr Blythely has to propose would be mutually beneficial to both our communities and might possibly revive the economy of the independent fiefdom of Sark.”

"Sark? Isn’t it a violation of your," he gestures, "laws?"

"Not if you take it to the top, sir. The monarch, er, still holds the rights to repeal any laws that govern the, er, wizarding half of the United Kingdom. As a failsafe, you understand."

"Purely as a failsafe."

"Yes sir."

"And as a failsafe, it might interest her to know that half the country is in what might be called an emergency situation with emergency laws?"

"Quite so. She has not been informed, as far as I recall, of our Minister’s declaration."

"So Mr Blythely is no more than a concerned citizen trying to create room for dialogue between the two halves of our country and in, er, furthering the interests of democracy."

"He is something of a visionary, sir."

"Is it," says the Prime Minister, "Legal?"

Marcus carefully picks at an invisible piece of lint on his jacket, “It is a _venerable_ law that we, er, are quite _fond_ of.”

"Ah. Well then," the PM pauses, "Send him in."

"Yes, Prime Minister."

* * *

August 12th 8 PM, _DMLE_

"So what’s in it for you?" Mafalda leans over the desk, watching the Permanent Private Secretary sign the papers.

"I’m sorry," Hermione looks up, "What?"

Mafalda rolls her eyes, “You’re going to have do a lot better than that, darling.”

* * *

August 12th, 10 PM,  _The Wixenomist Group Headquarters, 1 Tittle-Tattle Alley, London_

"I’m sure you’ll all agree that it is necessary that we ensure that this paper thrives. It essentially boils down to this: do we stand to keep our magazine going as a beacon of truth in a land of murky politicking or are we going to let our country’s press slowly wither and die, choked by the thorny bushes of press regulations and unhealthy, uncompetitive press cartels owned by those with political influence? I trust you will all make the correct choice."

* * *

August 13th, 10 AM, _The Wixenomist’s London Office, 25 Fleet Street, Diagon Alley, London_

"All right, all right, quieten down," Bletchley bangs a desk, "Our editor-in-chief has an important announcement to make."

Augustus Blythely surveys the room of expectant faces, then smiles. A predatory grin, they’ve called it and with good reason. Half the room pales.

"Right. I want all the presses moved out of London immediately and set up on my little estate on Sark. Creatives, Layouts and Production - pack up and clear out with the presses. Everyone else; two issues, double the work and we’re going to print and ship on Thursday. Get to work."

 


	36. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Justin Finch-Fletchley attempts to Bond Girl information out of the taciturn Finance Editor for The Wixenomist.

August 14th 10 AM, _The Wixenomist's London Office, 25 Fleet Street, Diagon Alley, London_

"Why," says Augustus Blythely, eyeing the editor for British affairs and the Finance editor, "are you both out here, bellowing away like a pair of erumpents on the loose, not chained to your desks, noses to the grindstone?"

"Finch-Fletchley's taking him out to dinner at The Inimitable Livers," says Mafalda, nodding in the Finance editor's direction, "What I'd _do_ for a man like that."

"He's not," says the Finance editor, gesturing vaguely, "It's just an informational session. Ministry pump. That sort of thing."

"At The Inimitable Livers? And oh," she looks at Augustus, "You'll like this. There's a trip to the _theatre_ afterwards. And Finch-Fletchley's _paying_."

Blythely rolls his eyes, "Such high romance."

"It's not -" says the Finance editor, but with considerably less conviction than before, "I'm not - we're not - he's not -"

"Yes darling, we know your denial's in fantastic shape -"

"- Prewett," Augustus pinches the bridge of his nose, "Leave the poor man alone. Go edit things. Be productive. No gossiping. No matchmaking. No general busybodying. No troubling poor Smith about his dubious connections."

"But -"

"Go!" he flaps his hands at her, "And, er, Smith," says Blythely, as Zacharias attempts to sidle away - and his, _are his eyes twinkling_? - , "If you _do_ shag the Minister for Magic's Junior Secretary, do us all a favour and keep your mouth shut -"

"But I'm not -"

Twinkling. Definitely twinkling.

"Mouth shut. Understand?"

* * *

August 14th 8PM, _The Inimitable Livers, London_

"I've been hearing a lot of, erm, _rumours_ concerning the er," Justin takes a sip of his wine, "Wixenomist, lately. Something about the, um," he pauses, "Queen?"

"Oh?" Zacharias says flatly, "Haven't heard that one."

"Really?" And Zacharias wonders how Justin manages to do it, because he slides forward and _stretches_ and _Merlin_ , _purrs_ , "That's a shame. I was rather hoping _you'd_ tell me about it."

Zacharias blinks, "Um. Sorry?"

Justin runs his thumb along the side of his palm - _and when did Justin start holding his_ **hand**? - "Don't worry yourself about it."

He thinks about how much he _hates_ Mafalda Prewett.

* * *

August 15th, 12 AM, 24 _________, London

"Oh - Mer -"

"So spill. The quicker you tell me, the quicker this ends."

"Justin - "

"Tell me, Zach."

"No - _ung_. _Please_ -"

"Answer the question."

" _Please - Just - oh_ -"

"The Queen."

"Blythely - nnnn - visited PM -

"Yes?"

" _Ah_ \- jurisdiction of the Queen, Sark - _sweet mother of Merlin_."

"And?"

" _Fuck you_ \- _hah_ \- _and your ridic - uh - embar - oh, fuck - Just - ah - fuck, fuck, fuck_."

 _Well_ , Zacharias covers his eyes with his arm so he won't have to see Justin's triumphant smirk, _Blythely's going to have me hanged_.

He flips Justin on to the bed. Because he's damned if he's going to go down without a fight.

* * *

August 15th, 10 PM, _The London Office of The Wixenomist, 25 Fleet Street, Diagon Alley_

"So, the fallen soldier returns -"

"Augustus has your papers waiting, in case -"

"- Accused of high treason -"

" - You want to save yourself -"

"Of course, I told them you were fighting the good fight -"

" - the disgrace -"

"- lying back and thinking of England -"

"- of being fired -"

"Felled by a dastardly spy from the enemy camps."

" - for selling State secrets."

"I'll have you know," says Zacharias, loftily, "That no state secrets were sold and that _I_ have a _boyfriend_. No thanks to the two of you."

"Darling," says Mafalda, flinging her arms around his neck, "How very _James Bond_ of you."

"You're late, Smith," snaps Augustus, from the doorway to his office.

"Darling, don't scold, he's a _hero_ , saved our magazine and everything."

" _Dulce et decorum est pro Patria mori_." Miles murmurs under his breath.

Blythely pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You must see the British edition," says Mafalda, unceremoniously thrusting a copy of _The Wixenomist_ at him, "Look. Aren't Creatives absolutely smashing?"

Zacharias blinks at the magazine being shoved at him, "I don't - " he says, flipping through it.

"No," she says patiently, "Turn to Britain."

"It's blacked out," he says, perplexed, "All of it."

That's when the music starts to play and _yes, that is most definitely a twinkle in Blythely's eye_ and they were all _so fired_.

"Rule Britannia," he chokes.

"Britannia rules the waves," Miles deadpans.

"To Britannia," says Blythely, raising a glass of champagne, smiling in a manner that brings the term ‘clinically insane’ to Zacharias’ mind, "May we never never never be slaves."

There is nothing left for him to do but to salute.

* * *

August 16th, 8 AM, _Office of the Minister for Magic_

"Had fun, Finch-Fletchley?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes, quite."

"Enough to call in sick?"

"Erm. Ah, yes," says Justin, "I was er, unavoidably deterred. For. Work. Reasons."

"Excellent. I’m sure Kingsley will be, er, delighted to hear the _information_ your _source_ has turned up,” the Advisor to the Minister for Magic makes a show of looking at his watch, “In fifteen minutes.” He smiles, “Good day.”

"Fuck," Justin whispers, after his retreating figure, "I’m so _fucked_.”

August 16th, 8:15 AM, _Office of the Minister for Magic_

"Are you," says Kingsley, very slowly and far too calmly, "Telling me you don’t know anything, at all?"

"Sorry?" squeaks Justin.

"Do you know," Kingsley continues in the kind of tone that makes Justin wonder whether he can possibly wrangle a job doing political commentary with The Wixenomist, "About _1973_?”

"Um, no?"

"It was," every word is emphasized, "A very important year."

"Oh."

"A very, _very_ important year.”

Justin frowns, “I don’t see -“

"It was the year we beat - _trounced_ , I should say - Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup. 700 to 10. It made the newspapers. Ended Slytherin’s winning streak.”

"And," light dawns, "you were -"

"Keeper. Blythely was Slytherin. Chaser. He’s had A Grudge ever since."

Justin winces. Because this _is_ important, even if his only brush with organized sport was the one time he tried out for the third eleven cricket team at the Dragon School, got hit squarely on his nose by the cricket ball and promptly passed out.

The battles of the wizarding world are won on its Quidditch pitches and all that. 

"You," the Minister glares at him, "have let us all down."

"I’m sorry," he bleats.

"You," Kingsley continues, ruthlessly, "are a _disgrace_ to Hufflepuff.”

Justin hunches miserably.

Zach owes him _. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch. Seven times over._

He perks up at the thought and ends up leaving the office sunnily cheerful and humming tunelessly, to the astonishment of the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.

"Bloody hell," the Junior Undersecretary whispers, to no one in particular.

* * *

August 15th, 10 AM, _24 ________, London_

"Why?"

"I don’t - I just -"

"Why would you, I can’t understand - you have an _out_ , you have _everything_ you need to let it get out, let it _hit_ them - it’s not about stability any more, it’s about the _truth_ and cold hard facts - so help me Justin, _why would you take their side_?”

"It’s - It’s Kingsley - I mean, these - we fought for them, this was what we fought for, what we _wanted_.”

"It’s not as though Kingsley couldn’t manage it. It’s his last year in office, he could bloody well force it through and make everyone swallow it. This is _magic_ , this is the _truth -_ look at us, sitting here in robes and _cravats_ while your father plays around with a whatsit -“

"Blackberry."

"Has the _world_ at his fingertips - no, do shut up - this is the _future_ , Justin. Fast, zippy speed and technomages and _equality_. Blythely’s an _arse_ but at least he has an eye for truth and rationality. This is the _future_ and you want to pretend it isn’t happening and _Merlin_ if I can’t see why, when you’re the one with a glass ceiling and Bole to deal with.”

“ _Piss off_ \- this - this - it’s not a game, all right? It’s not a fucking social experiment, it’s the _whole fucking wizarding world, it’s people’s lives -_ you can’t throw it all _out_ , you can’t throw everyone into the deep end and expect them to swim; we’re here to keep _everyone, everyone all right? Muggleborns, squibs, goblins - everyone_ \- from drowning and this, _this_ is what _we_ fought for, what _I_ fought for, what _Ernie_ and the _DA_ fought for -“

"No," and Justin winces, "You do not -" Zacharias strides over to the window and lights a cigarette.

"Squib," he says, all of a sudden, while Justin tries to pick the right words to apologize.

"Sorry, _what_?”

"My sister is a squib. I ran away, I wouldn’t fight, because I wanted to see my sister, a _squib_ in case the siege went all wrong and we lost and everything went to pieces. She was a _squib_. Do you - we were _scared_ , waiting for the _pops_ and the banging on the door, the end. I was _terrified._ So it’s not - it’s not just _a fucking social experiment_. It’s about you, it’s about _her_ \- it’s about your future, her future,” he runs his hand through his hair, “Don’t you feel it? That glass wall keeping you out? The way Bole looks at you - the way mum won’t talk to Susanna - the way they all refused to talk to gran because gran,” he laughs, “ _gran was a muggle_ even if she had enough magic in her blood to see ghosts and read the future.”

"I’m sorry , but -"

"It isn’t," his voice is strained, "as though Kingsley couldn’t manage it. It’s his final year in office, he could bloody well force everything through if he wanted."

"I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry," Justin squeezes his shoulder gently.

"No, no it’s - you could, you know. Push the bills through, strategically call your opposition all kinds of names, call them _petty_ ,” he grasps Justin’s hand where it is on his shoulder, “Say it’s an economic opportunity - that should sell it to the _Malfoys_ \- sixteen _years_ , Justin, _sixteen bloody years_ , it’s about bloody time that something happens. It’s about _bloody_ time you got kicked up a notch, ‘stead of Bole pissing on you.”

Justin grimaces, “It _would_ make life easier.”

"You’d be able to get everything through."

"No worrying about the ‘ _rabid_ masses’.”

"Pity he’s stuck there."

"Pity he doesn’t have a skeleton in his closet," says Justin, carefully taking the cigarette Zacharias is holding and stubbing it out on the window sill.

"D’you know," says Zacharias very slowly, "I’m almost certain there is. And if there isn’t," he smiles predatorily at Justin, "Mafalda’ll make one up."

* * *

August 17th, 8:30 AM, _Office of the Minister for Magic_

"Is he in a rage?"

"Oh no, he’s in a peachy mood, full of sunshine and light and butterflies."

Dennis punches Justin's arm, “Arse. It’s your head as much as mine.”

“ _I_ have a job all lined up, in case,” Justin replies loftily, “Do _you_?”

"Press Office for the MoM? You bloody well bet."

"After you, then."

“ _Please_ , I wouldn’t dream of usurping the _Junior Secretary_ \- after you.”

"What," Kingsley thunders, "do you mean by telling me _The Wixenomist isn’t under our jurisdiction anymore_?”

"Sorry Minister," says Dennis, smoothly, "But Mr Blythely and his, ahem, friends down at The Wixenomist have taken _advantage_ of an old clause in the constitution of The Wizengamot and now report directly to Her Majesty, the Queen.”

"And there’s no way around this?"

"Strong as cast iron," Dennis replies, "Unless you’re, er, willing to be charged with sedition and possibly also, treachery."

"Isn’t there a loophole?"

Justin and Dennis exchange glances.

"Well," says Justin, "There is _one_. Created specifically at the request of the Lestrange family - “

"Circa 1691," Dennis adds helpfully.

"In 1691, for wizards who believe that the er, rightful ruler of England is a Plantagenet, but it follows the rule of wixen primogeniture - only _direct_ heirs are exempt from acknowledging the er, Queen is Queen. Done to, er, stop pureblood families notorious for flaunting the rules from using conjugal ties to, er, flaunt the rules laid down by the Wizengamot.”

"Smart," says Kingsley in a tone that suggests he thinks otherwise.

Justin pauses and looks at Dennis who nods slightly, “Minister,” he pauses and splays his hands on the table in front of him, “Don’t you think it’s time we let this get out?”

"This is what we fought for, isn’t it? Equality. Rights for muggleborns," says Dennis.

"This is _The Wixenomist_ , sir. If they’re going ahead with it, isn’t it a dead cert that the richer sections of the wizarding world are going to follow suit?” Justin pauses, “The ones that matter, at least,” he adds.

"If you could spin it as an economic opportunity," Dennis shrugs, "Sixteen years is long enough for us to have started thinking about serious, radical reforms."

"There’s only three or four of the pureblood aristocracy who could cause serious trouble and we could probably find a way to neutralize them, or at least make them appear outdated -"

”- and if it’s goblin strikes you’re worried about,” says Dennis, “We probably should be listening to them? Since they, you know, run our banks?”

Justin takes a deep breath, “And, it’s your final year in office. You probably _could_ push all of these bills through the Wizengamot, without worrying too much about political repercussions - they won’t make you resign seven, sorry, eight months away from your retirement, not if we made it look like a tasteless and crass, desperate act -“

Kingsley raises his hands and stops them, “You’ve both put a lot of thought into this,” he says and it’s less a question than it is a statement of fact.

Dennis grins sheepishly and Justin ruffles the back of his hair in what can only be described as a guilty manner.

"Yes, Minister."

* * *

Pictured: Jerusalem redux, by Mafalda Prewett for _The Wixenomist_ London Office walls.


	37. Rule Britannia!

Pictured:

Above: _The Wixenomist_ , as printed everywhere else.

Below: _The Wixenomist,_ the British edition.


	38. The (Ir)rationality Of Archives

Astounding, how things which often appear to be unrelated almost always end up connected to each other, ineffably bound up in the sticky strings of time. Very few would have connected the greater part of the events of the second wizarding war to the simple fact that a photograph was printed in The Daily Prophet and that same copy of The Daily Prophet happened to be taken to Azkaban as the Minister for Magic inspected the prison. Of course, there were a great many other connections, but it was that photograph which set in motion a series of events which irrevocably changed the course of the war – for better or for worse, we cannot say now. It is a rare sort of person who can accurately deal in what ifs.

Now, there were very few who would be able to connect three different events, occurring at three different times, with reasonable accuracy and explain how one led to the other to the other. After all, there was nothing that could lead the reasonable individual to infer that the reorganization of the archives of the Department of Mysteries, a murder and the threat of a goblin uprising could be related to each other. To link the murder and the uprising would have required no mean feat of imagination to do so. To link an archival reorganization to any of these was unthinkable.

Nevertheless, it was this overhaul that was indirectly responsible for, nearly sixty years later, what looked to be the beginnings of a goblin uprising, the likes of which the wizarding world had never seen before.

Thaddaeus J. de Quincey was a modern man with modern and experimental ideas about how business should be conducted down in the Department of Mysteries – despite having spent most of his career in the Department of Transportation until an unfortunate incident with a steam engine had forced Hector Fawley to delicately shunt him down to the DoM in 1938. His career at the Department of Mysteries was peppered with various attempts (mostly unsuccessful) to herd the Unspeakables into what he called “profitable” avenues of research. These suggestions included, but were not limited to, a proposal to send magically modified steam engines to Jupiter, one to solve international food crises by crossing potatoes with spinach and pigs (for their respective nutritional values, proposed as a solution to the Bengal famine), a canon with spelled grapeshot that would specifically target mosquitoes and Chizpurfles and an equation to make Gringotts more efficient which only ever yielded the answer pi when put into use. Most of these were carefully shot down by Charles Nott’s assurance that he would find that the vast majority of these suggestions had already been proposed and dismissed a century ago if he bothered to glance cursorily at the works which stocked the Department’s archives.

For a time, Charles Nott and Caius Rookwood were free of Thaddaeus J. de Quincey’s odd fancies, but it seemed in the interim, de Quincey had taken Nott’s words to heart and in 1960, he declared that it was time to institute a new filing system at the Department of Mysteries.

This was, to all extents and purposes, a sensible suggestion but nevertheless, Nott and Rookwood both approached it with caution. In de Quincey’s hands even the most sensible of suggestions turned into bizarre monstrosities which perplexed all but their inventor. Certainly, when he proposed that they rid the department of all reports dating further back than the 17th century and furthermore, sort them  _all_ alphabetically, irrespective of the matter covered in the texts, Rookwood and Nott’s cautiousness proved to have been entirely warranted.

This is not to say that the previous filing system was flawless or indeed, even methodical, but as the saying went, though it was madness, yet there was method to’t. Even if the method only made sense to only the most dedicated Unspeakables – which is to say, all of them – and required a particular instinct for the arcane as well as an impeccable memory. It was the sort of filing system peculiar to those who had passed through the Collegiums, a fact that was entirely unsurprising given that most Unspeakables had studied at the Collegiums at some point or the other. It was a source of comfort to these witches and wizards, who now had to deal with  _politics_ in addition to the rigours of scientific study; a reminder that there were places that remained untouched and unsullied by the foul winds of  _politics_.

It was also non-existent.

To be sure, ask an Unspeakable for a certain work and they would be able, with unerring precision, pull precisely that work from the shelves of the Department archives. To the untrained eye, however, or the novice, what was in fact a methodically managed filing system appeared to be no more than stacks and stacks of reports, books and files haphazardly organized with no discernable rhyme or reason for them being sorted into one stack over another. It simply  _was_ , in the same way that magic  _was_.

Thaddaeus J. de Quincey disapproved of it. To his mind, such rampant disorganization wreaked havoc on the inquiring mind and infinitely reduced its capacity for rational thought – and thus, productivity.

“Only consider, my dear boys, the number of brain hours you would gain if only you were certain that you could find any given work by Palgrave at any given time in section 20, subsection 4 of the department archives – such efficiency, the gains in  _utility_  are not to be ignored.”

And since neither of them wished to explain that this was the  _wrong_ use of the word utility, they let matters drop and instead quietly delegated the matter of reorganizing the department’s archives to their shocked and offended archivist departments.  _They_ , at least, were made of sterner stuff and refused to let de Quincey browbeat them – or at least, they did so where they could not be observed. Though de Quincey did wonder what fascinations the new bin room held for the Unspeakables since they seemed to disappear in there for four or five hours on end and emerge, at the end of it, with unpleasantly cat-like smiles on their faces.

But then the Unspeakables  _were_  a very strange breed of wizard.

The re-archiving was an unparalleled success, in other words, though not as its architect intended it. Painstakingly, the Department’s five archivists carefully carted work after work from the archives to a new folded room kindly created by the Unspeakables from the department of Space, until the  _formal_ archives contained only the very bare minimum of texts to suit Mr de Quincey’s  _modern_ tastes. The new archive, designed according to Mr de Quincey’s tastes, came to be informally known as his personal library among all and sundry in the Department and every single Unspeakable gave it a wide berth, unless they were looking for the most rudimentary texts on the properties of magic.

Now, if Thaddaeus J. de Quincey had been a humbler man and had had a better grasp on his history of the Ministry of Magic, he would have been content to let things proceed as they had done for centuries in the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps, then, certain reports, found during the upheaval, would have remained squirreled away in the dusty corners of the archive where people rarely ventured – having been considered irrelevant to any current research going on in the department.  On the other hand, if not for de Quincey’s meddlesome ways, neither Michael McKinnon and Edgar Bones or Eileen Prince would have been able to find the missing pieces of the puzzle in their research on magical diseases and perhaps Samantha Jones would have kept her job as archivist, not been promoted to the head of administration in the department and consequently, not spent her life filling out form after form and gently attempting to persuade recalcitrant Unspeakables into complying with research ethics codes.

In fact, if de Quincey had kept himself to himself and let the Department proceed as it had for centuries, at least five people would have still been alive – and the future of the wizarding world would have looked quite different.

After all, it was quite by accident that Samantha Jones found an old and dusty account of the bubonic plague from the 16th century, pointedly refuting an apparently popular belief of that time that contact with muggles put the magical folk in danger of contracting the plague. And it was a study of squibs during the infamous flu pandemic of 1918 which provided the missing link for McKinnon and Bones’ research which almost certainly would have never been found, lying as it was among a series of studies on the nature of house elf magic, deemed to be highly inaccurate and almost entirely fabricated – i.e. true but provocative and contrary to accepted wisdom on such matters. Things would not have slid into place for Caius Rookwood as he attempted to reconcile the vastly differing approaches to magic around the world – all effective, in a way which suggested that perhaps it was  _he_ who had the wrong end of the stick.

So perhaps Mr de Quincey was not as ineffective as his subordinates in the Department of Mysteries seemed to believe, even if the benefits of the reorganization were incidental to de Quincey’s original aims. If he had stayed, it is quite possible that he might have ushered in an intellectual renaissance in magical Britain albeit unintentionally.  

As it were, Thaddaeus J. de Quincey happily left the Department of Mysteries for the Department of Magical Sports – no doubt to baffle them with his suggestions for Bludger Reform – in 1968 and Charles Nott carefully contrived a departmental shuffle that left the archive department stripped of its best workers for the better part of seven years, by which time  _war_ was more important than the archives. In the process, Samantha Jones was promoted to head of administration and without her guidance, the archivists who did remain, fell to petty squabbling and gradually abandoned the reorganization of the archives – gently encouraged by Mr Nott’s insistence that it was of vital importance to catalogue the libraries of pureblood Britain before their families died out. Those who had been working on Caius Rookwood’s pet project, under his supervision, were kindly told that now Mr Rookwood was dead it would not be necessary to continue his research. Those who were working outside the purview of the department could not be so carefully guided and were thus, handled brutally.

In the end it was impossible to prove that this was all connected. Hiking accidents in Skye are not uncommon after all and wix disappear all the time on trips to Europe. Jobs come and go. War takes lives. Departmental archives are organized and reorganized without similar monumental upheavals. In time, the archival reorganization was abandoned and instead, the Department of Mysteries acquired no less than forty different copies of  _Myths of Magical Europe_  to add to the ever-expanding list of books banned on grounds of containing incitatory material.

The beauty of archives and filing systems in all their absurd complexities lies in the fact that what the diligent archivist may reveal may equally be fed into the archive and then permanently disappeared by a careless one.

Or even by an interested party.

Say, for instance, the new head of the Department of Mysteries.

Archives are mysterious entities and the Department of Mysteries’ arcane filing system, returned to its original form by Charles Nott in early 1969, was more mysterious than most. In went the forty copies of  _Myths of Magical Europe_ , along with the various papers of Caius Rookwood and out came nothing at all. It all vanished among the huge stacks of papers and files and books, once again returned to their natural state of apparent disorganization, though undoubtedly Nott’s hand carefully guided them towards the archives’ most obscure parts.

Archives are mysterious creatures. Infinite in their capacity and their hunger. Adaptable in purpose and use. In the hands of one it creates. In the hands of another it destroys.

By 1974, Charles Nott could only spread his hands apologetically when confronted by Michael McKinnon and Edgar Bones over Caius Rookwood’s missing papers. Like a black hole, or perhaps some hungry prehistoric beast, the archive had swallowed those forty books and papers whole, along with the other documents returned to their rightful place, and vomited out chaos as per the requirements of the average Unspeakable. It was not his fault, Nott told them, that in the chaos certain papers had gone missing. After all, he could hardly oversee every minute detail, every minute action that took place in the Department every minute of the day.

In Christmas 1975, their research was purchased by the Department, added to its archives and similarly, conveniently disappeared. A few months later, Millicent Bulstrode I and Michael Finnigan’s work followed suite.

And like the great snake eating its own tail, there was nothing left to show that a crime had been committed and history erased – it all came full circle and it seemed as though nothing at all had happened between 1969 and 1975. No great discoveries, besides the realization that using cannons to hunt Chizpurfles was highly costly in proportion to the gains offered. No great insights. No progress.

No murders, no crimes committed.

Nothing at all, but reams and reams of papers and parchments and books haphazardly sorted, with secrets – such  _secrets_ – hidden away among their silent pages and no one to tug on the strings of time and unveil them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Millicent Bulstrode I is not the Millicent Bulstrode of the books, she is her aunt.


	39. A Hanged Man's Defence

There is magic we do not play with, or at least have been told never to play with, lest we forever shift the balance of the universe and tip it one day closer to its ending. All magic that deals with time and death falls in this category. Oneiromancers, Seidkonurs, Necromancers, Prophetic Seers – they all learn to fear their gifts as much as love them; the balance between time and fruitfulness and death and destruction is so fine, so precarious. Slip one way or the other and they find themselves drawn into the interstices between this world and the next – such is the penalty for meddling with time, with seeing the future.

My father laughed at all this talk and called it nonsense. My mother was less certain in her skepticism. Such things could not be proved one way or the other and there was the knocker. Always the knocker and the same riddle, or fragments of a riddle repeated over and over again;  _what man requires three days to be laid in a grave_. My father laughed it off. My mother smiled pityingly, but could never quite bring herself to treat it like a joke.

So I meddled, or at least I tried to meddle.

I suppose it is more than mere coincidence – cosmic irony, perhaps, and the perverse pleasure of the fates – which led me back to the very people who murdered my father. Of all the infinite possibilities, that I should find myself back among their ranks after having sworn to never be one of them. I was better than this; I had been  _raised_ better than this, I knew better than to really ever believe that the purity of one’s blood could ever compensate for a sharp wit or acute understanding. I was a Ravenclaw, not a Slytherin; brains and not brawn, wits and not blood, reason and not blind loyalty – that was what I had been raised to. But there, despite its improbability, I was and I was a Death Eater.

And I lied on my most important mission.

There are many things this book is. There are many things it is not. It is not a comprehensive history of the wizarding wars. It is not an attempt to show any of the people who walk in and out its pages any more innocent or guilty than others – anyone who lived through these wars is guilty in some form of the other. It may not even be Truth – if anything, reading this book should show you, the reader, that the truth is not immutable; it changes over time, or at least the meaning and importance we attach to it changes over time. It is not a tell-all, not for titillation or scandal, though undoubtedly, there will be many who use this to reveal how deeply the rot has set into our world.

What does any of this have to do with time, death and the future? Several things. It was that little lie that I told which bought us all time during the Second war. That little lie was taken up by the Dark Lord as though it was the truth and that was the truth he acted upon. If he had not, perhaps we would not have all rallied in the same way we did. Perhaps England would not have finally taken up arms against us and only the few who followed Dumbledore might have been our only contenders. Perhaps various men and women scattered through the ranks of the Ministry would not have fought so hard against being taken by a man who clearly had no respect for the workings of bureaucracy.

I meddled once, I meddle again. The rot has set in far too deep. Nearly two decades have passed and for all that there is little progress that has been made. To be sure, no one kills muggleborns, but what besides that? Should I drop names? Should I mention those who stayed neutral, or played both sides, at least and now sit in the Ministry of Magic, blocking any and all progress? Should I tell you their histories and how their histories still entwine closely with the history of the wizarding world?

In the course of my meddling I once came across  _something_  – not a prophecy but not quite legend, myth or history – garbled and wild which foretold the end of this world; disease, war, famine and death. Such a vision could be interpreted many ways. In the Room of Requirement, with that poisoned diadem on my head I understood it. Or one meaning. Disease – the rot. War – the struggle. Famine – the hunger for justice. Death – the end of the old and the beginning of the new. Is this my lie, my folly? I wonder if I made a mistake listening to it, if in doing so I misunderstood – if in writing this book – I have not tipped the scales of the universe further, one day closer to its destruction.

But I am a meddler. People have asked for names and not wild ravings. I give you a history of terror and rot. Those who go searching and demanding names will inevitably find them.

Start, not at the top, but at the middle. The private secretaries and minor Ministry officials. Start counting. How many still working there who once willingly agreed to help the Dark Lord found a Ministry if he guaranteed he would keep his fingers out of the workings of petty bureaucracy?

By my estimates, at least seventy per cent of them still work for the Ministry.

There are those who will certainly consider it  _gauche_ of me to list their names, but truly, what is the purpose of a tell-all if not to tell all?

Start at the middle, in the Goblin Liaison Office. Brutus Flint, of course, will tell you that he maintained strict neutrality during the war and that is true enough in its own fashion. He did not, for example, actively take part in the murder or torture of any muggles or ‘blood-traitors’. Having worked with our treasurer in overseeing our accounts, I can assure you that his contributions to our war fund were much appreciated. Safety money, I believe, is the appropriate term. Of course, his greatest contribution were his efforts to bring Gringotts under wizard control after the fall of the Ministry and the establishment of emergency rule. Without his invaluable contributions, we certainly would never have got as far as we did in our war effort.

Finlay Montmorency’s willing help in securing us copies of Ministry records and maps of magical Britain, of course, helped us streamline our targets. Without his help we should have gone on several wild goose chases, no doubt and at least twenty good souls should have made it through the war alive. Other information, particularly on matters of international interest, were so  _helpfully_ provided by Ludo Bagman that one wonders, perhaps, if Bartemius Crouch did him a disservice by falling for his guileless act of innocence and if, in fact, he had perfected the art of chicanery. Though of course, the fact that he was caught is a mark against him. Barnabas Higgs managed far more for us without so much as incurring the slightest instance of suspicion. Such an elevated member of the public, Mr Higgs, so  _good_ , so  _neutral_ …

Ah, but where would we stand without our three noblest benefactresses? Where would any of us stood without the help of Cicely Selwyn, Honoria Crabbe and Eugenia Goyle? Undoubtedly, we should all have been languishing in Azkaban much earlier and there would have been no war to speak of. We must thank them for opening their homes to us in our darkest hours of need. We must thank their husbands too, for choosing to turn a blind eye to our comings and goings for the sake of peace. Thank you, messieurs Smith, Parkinson and Fawley; we are forever indebted to your unwillingness to foster familial strife. Without you, Azkaban would have been filled with our soldiers and generals and the Dark Lord would have had to find himself a new army at short notice.

I suppose, some mention must be made of the indefatigable writers of the Daily Prophet for churning out scurrilous nonsense with alacrity whenever Mr Avery, Aelfric, Aubrey, Alderic or Arkhippos – names can be confusing, I understand, though in the end they all stand for the eagle – snapped their fingers and demanded they talk less about war and dark lords and more about the psychological weaknesses of a fifteen year old boy. A more obliging editor, in the form of Barnabas Cuffe, could hardly be found elsewhere. We are forever indebted to him for allaying the fears of magical Britain, though the country was swiftly burning all around them. Such a talent for dissimulation can only be  _magical_.

And of course, who else but Cornelius Fudge, who took his money and abandoned the necessity of making choices? How convenient to have all responsibility lifted from one’s shoulders and left to better men. Or should I say, perhaps,  _richer_  men? Such a shame that the rest of us could not have abdicated our responsibilities with such ease.

Who else should I name? Aurors who stayed faithful to a mythical ‘Ministry’ in lieu of an actual one, instead of joining the Bones-Moody-Scrimgeour resistance or, very simply, staying at home? Minor officials who helped us set up martial rule in magical Britain and even more helpfully, turned their muggleborn neighbours over to us without a murmur of protest? Pragmatic businessmen and Wizengamot elders who changed their allegiance when we had set up martial rule? All the men and women who, like the infamous Vicar of Bray, unhesitatingly switched sides with the slightest breeze?

What right does a Death Eater, a man who has murdered for his keep, to judge anyone? Moral certitude and honesty, or perhaps, a need to atone for my wrongdoings.

I am a meddler and if the truth will not out, then I must do what I do best and tip the scales one way or the other.

Excerpt from  _A History of Insignificance_ by Augustus Rookwood.


	40. How to engineer a resignation

Memo from the Office of the Minister For Magic, London, to the Office of the Representative of the British MoM to the ICW, Geneva  
**Status:** Confidential, Priority.  
**Dispatched:** 8:00 AM GMT, 15 August 2014  
**Via:** LON-GVA Tr.Ntl Floo  
**Arrived:** 10:00 AM GMT, 15 August 2014  
**Received by:** M. Belby at 9:05 AM CET,

I don’t think it necessary for me to inform you re. Rookwood’s biography, or the expected public response.

I trust you have already done what is necessary. Please have yr office send us a copy of an official statement for release to the press. The Ministry will compensate you for all yr troubles.

I truly am sorry that it should have come to this.  
\- Kingsley Shacklebolt

Memo from the Office of the Representative of the British MoM to the ICW, Geneva, to the Office of the Minister For Magic, London.  
**Status:** Confidential, Priority. **  
Dispatched:** 4:00 PM CET, 15 August 2014  
**Via:** GVA-LON Tr.Ntl. Floo  
**Arrived:** 4:30 PM CET, 15 August 2014  
**Received by:** J. Finch-Fletchley at 3:45 PM GMT

Save yr apologies & condolences, we both know you mean them as much as you will miss me, i.e. not at all.  
\- Barnabas Higgs

 **Encl:** Official statement of resignation for Ministry press statement.

* * *

He realizes he should have known they'd end up being the centre of attention of the sixty-odd people on the Picadilly Line travelling between Picadilly Circus and South Kensington, because a) no one wears ten inch armadillo heels and bilious green mini-robes on the Tube, not even the most fashionable of fashionable central-Londoners and b) no one else in their bloody carriage is demanding, in piercing tones, to be told whether or not this is a date. Now, sixty-odd Londoners are listening in to what is meant to be a highly private conversation, with varying degrees of interest, waiting for this promising mini-soap to escalate further.

“Keep your voice down,” he tells her, “And I don’t take my dates to requiems.”

In retrospect, he realizes he’d walked straight into it.

“Are you going to murder me darling?” she crows, “I’ll have to call mama and give her my love for the very last time.”

He sighs and hastily types a sentence into the phone he’d started carrying around since his sister Susanna had bullied him into it last year.

“You, do something illegal?” she says, lowering her voice, “I know it sounds fun, but joining your brother in Azkaban is _hardly_ staying out of trouble.”

“It’s not illegal,” he replies, rolling his eyes, “There’s enough proof.”

She eyes him narrowly, “How much of it have you forged?”

“Why does everyone always think the worst of me?” he says, aggrieved, “I wouldn’t tell you anyway – plausible deniability and all that – you do your part and I do mine.”

“If you think Skeeter and Parkinson aren’t going to smell a forgery –“

“They’re like moths around a candle when it comes to gossip – they’re not going to bother as long as someone lands face first in the mud.”

“Give me a reason why I should do your dirty work for you.”

“I’ll be generous and give you three, reason one - we’re in the middle of an economic and political crisis which necessitates swift action, which as you know he opposes; reason two – he’s the sort of blood supremacist who kisses upwards and kicks downwards which makes him supremely hard to oust the traditional way; reason three – you love gossip and you love being at the center of a scandal, as both catalyst and observer.”

Mafalda Prewett purses her lips and regards Zacharias Smith carefully.

“All right,” she says, as the doors open, “As long as you take the fall.”

“There won’t be a fall,” he mutters at the back of her head.

* * *

 **From:** _The Daily Prophet_ dated 25th August 2014

**MINISTRY SCANDAL: WAVE OF RESIGNATIONS FOLLOWING RELEASE OF FORMER DEATH EATER’S BIOGRAPHY**

_By a staff reporter  
_ _London_

A new wave of resignations have been sparked off following the release of former Death Eater Augustus Rookwood’s autobiography for sale to the general public and accusations of collaborations with the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War. Ministry officials across departments and ranks have handed in resignations pending inquiries into the nature of these allegations. Investigations have been opened into both the named accused as well as their affiliates in an effort to minimize the risk posed to this country by any remaining Death Eater sympathizers. In a statement to the press delivered today afternoon, the Head of the Auror Division, Harry Potter, promised that every effort would be made to ensure to “stamp out the rot within the Ministry walls”.

Among those who resigned after the allegations of their involvement with the Death Eaters during the second wizarding war are Barnabas Higgs, representative of the Ministry of Magic to the International Confederation of Wizards, Brutus Flint – representative to Magical Europe for Economic Prosperity – and Cicely Smith, Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. An independent public inquiry has been announced concerning these accusations, the results of which will be published by the Wizengamot on December 1st, during the winter session. Meanwhile, the Auror Department has announced that it will be investigating both those associated with the accused in question, as well as some who were accused of withholding crucial information from the authorities. Those pending investigation by the Auror Department concerning the accusations raised in Mr Rookwood’s autobiography include Finlay Montmorency and David Smith, the latter being accused of withholding information concerning the escape of notorious Death Eater, Charles Selwyn.

These accusations must come as a serious blow to the family, following the arrest of Adam Smith for the murder of Augustus Rookwood under what will now seem to be more than suspicious circumstances. The Smith family has not responded to requests for interviews. 

These resignations are undoubtedly a source of deep embarassment and shame to the Ministry of Magic, following so swiftly in the wake of the Senior Advisor to the Minister for Magic’s resignation over allegations concerning the misappropriation of ministry funds totaling nearly twenty thousand galleons. 

* * *

“Absolutely,” Mafalda sips her cocktail and pauses for a calculated moment, “I had it from an _extremely_ reliable source.”

“MI7?” Perkins asks her sharply.

“I’d hardly call MI7 a reliable source, dear,” says Rita, with a little titter that makes Mafalda wince internally, “I’d need to see the proof for myself, of course.”

“Assuming there _is_ physical evidence,” Pansy leans back and crosses her arms, “Well?”

Mafalda rolls her eyes and reaches for her oversized snakeskin bag, “Have I _ever_ liedto you?” She places a file on the table and leans back, crossing her arms.

There is a moment of silence before three pairs of hands reach out to grab the file.

Mafalda smirks quietly into her glass.

* * *

 **AUROR REPORT**  
**Date:** 28th August 2014  
**WPC Violation:** 150 Section A – Harbouring Known Criminals, Subsection 3.iii: Escapees; 150 Section C – Withholding Key Information Concerning a Known Criminal’s Whereabouts, Subsection 3.iii: Escapees.  
**Subject of investigation:** Concerning the location of known Death Eater Charles Selwyn **  
Parties being investigated:** David Smith, Head of the International Magic Office of Law  
**Investigating Auror:** James Killick  
**Started:** 10:00 AM  
**Ended:** 11:00 AM  


**Excerpts from the transcript:**

**JK:** Did you harbour Charles Selwyn, knowing full well that he was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban?

 **DS** : Yes.

 **JK:** And you never reported this to the authorities?

 **DS:** Not officially.

 **JK:** Could you please explain that?

 **DS:** Pen Rhionydd is a tiny village. I doubt that either Mr Bones or Mr Robards were unaware that my brother-in-law had escaped from Azkaban.

 **JK:** Mr Bones and Mr Robards are not the ones being investigated here.

 **DS:** Are you a family man, Mr Killick?

 **JK:** This is hardly appr –

 **DS:** Well then; suppose you found yourself torn between your duty as a Ministry man and your duty to your family, which one would you choose? Would you have the satisfaction of knowing that you were a morally upstanding man, or would you prefer peace in time of war?

 **JK:** Mr Smith –

 **DS:** Imagine it, Mr Killick. On the one hand, your days are governed by your family – men and women with whom you share not only a home, but a village; there is no escaping them – on the other hand, your conscience and your position as a Ministry man. Have you ever experienced the wrath of a woman who has not had her own way? No, then Mr Killick, you are a lucky man.  Should I have attempted to report him, all that would have happened was that he would have slipped through my fingers, aided no doubt by my brother-in-law and my wife, and then he should have been far beyond my control. I did what I could to mitigate the worst of his actions, unfortunately it was not enough. Do you not think, Mr Killick, that I have not regretted every moment of my decision to ignore Charles Selwyn’s presence in my home to please my wife? I wished to avoid the example set for me by those who had preceded me and for all my pains I have had this flung in my teeth by my children every single day for the past seventeen years -

 **JK** : And yet despite that you have been withholding information concerning Mr Selwyn’s whereabouts?

 **DS** : I don't make the same mistakes twice, Mr Killick. If I had found him again, rest assured I would have delivered him to your office without a moment’s hesitation.  
  


**Notes:  
** Guilty of concealing Charles Selwyn’s whereabouts between 1995 – 1997 and 1997-1998 under the interim Ministry. Proceed with caution re. Statute of Limitations; mentioned pressing charges if officially charged with harbouring Selwyn between 1995-1997. Has no information on Selwyn’s current whereabouts. - James Killick

* * *

“I hope you have a nice present for me, darling,” says Mafalda, settling herself altogether far too comfortably on Zacharias’ desk.

“I told you they’d buy it.”

“No such thing,” she replies, “And it wouldn’t have succeeded without _me_ to help it along.”

“I’ll believe you when I see it in the papers,” he replies, “ _Off_ –“

She pouts as she slides off the desk, “I deserve a nice dinner and a trip to a not-requiem.”

“How about Wagner?”

He grins as she slams the door behind her, before stretching his legs out and resuming The Prophet’s crossword.

* * *

 **Encl:** Official Statement of Resignation, Mr Barnabas Higgs, Representative of the British Ministry Of Magic to the International Confederation of Wizards  
**To be released:** 25th August 2014  
**Status:** Cleared  
**Sign:** Dennis Creevey  


It is with a heavy heart that I resign from the position of Ministry Representative to the International Confederation of Wizards following accusations made by the former Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood, in his autobiography, about my support of the terrorist organization he was a part of. There are those who will take this resignation as incontrovertible proof of my guilt and to them I have nothing to say. To the rest of you, I can only tell you that I do this to assuage my own conscience, as well as for the good and future of the nation.

Did I collaborate with Death Eaters? That is undoubtedly the question preying on everyone’s minds as they read Mr Rookwood’s autobiography. Let me turn the question on its head: were there any of us who did not collaborate with the Death Eaters? For those of us in office, 1997 was a year of difficult choices. In a matter of minutes, on the first of August, the Ministry and all that it stood for was destroyed and the country was thrown into chaos as we stood in the hollowed shell of the burnt Ministry. Within two weeks, the country was in the throes of a bloody civil war and we were given two choices: die along with your families, or feed them the information they required.

I promise you, those of us who tried to re-establish a Ministry and law and order of some kind at the time did so with the fullest intention of preserving the system that we as a populace had created by popular vote. We had no love for You-Know-Who or his policies, we only sought to keep the government functioning – for the good of the people.

In doing so, we compromised.

I am ashamed to say that we did, but there is no escaping this fact. In our act to bring order back into our lives and the lives of those around us we – I and my colleagues – compromised severely on our morals and our personal beliefs. I am not so certain that this is alien to those of you who tried to continue living as you had done before the war.

Let me assure you: I regret every compromise I made during those dark times, but if you were to ask me if I would change any of my actions, I do not know that I would do much differently than I had done. I believe I tried to stem the damage as much as I could, without putting my family at risk. It is one thing, after all, to risk one’s own life; quite another to put the lives of innocents on the lines for a matter of one’s fine principles.

My resignation has been long overdue. I have been plagued by my conscience since the war ended and Mr Rookwood’s autobiography – though this may surprise those who think uncharitably of me – only serves to confirm that little niggling voice which has told me that I ought to have resigned long ago and placed the reigns in better hands, in more moral hands. There will be no better time than this, therefore, to hand the baton over to my successor, Mr Belby. He is an upstanding young man, with a keen mind and an acute understanding of international politics and I can think of no one better to represent our country’s interests to the International Confederation of Wizards. I wish Mr Belby the very best for the future and I hope that he will succeed where I have failed, in representing not only our country's interests, but our country as a whole as we take a stand and condemn the abuses of magical rights internationally.  


**Notes:**  
Good riddance to bad rubbish. - D. Creevey.

* * *

 **AUROR REPORT**  
**Date:**  28th August 2014  
**WPC Violation:** None  
**Subject of investigation:** Close links with subjects of public independent inquiry  
**Parties under investigation:** Marcus Flint, MI7  
**Investigating Auror:**  Michael Corner  
**Started:** 9:00 AM  
**Ended:** 9:15 AM  
  


Excerpts from the transcript:

 **MC:** Please state your name for the record.

 **MF:** Marcus Flint

 **MC:** Age?

 **MF:** 40

 **MC:** Occupation?

 **MF:** You just entered it on your form.

 **MC:** Standard procedure, Mr Flint, please answer the question.

 **MF:** An office in MI7.

 **MC:** Relationship to the accused?

 **MF:** Think this is some kind of bloody joke, d’you Corner?

 **MC:** I’m sorry Flint, I have a prescribed set of questions I’m expected to ask you.

 **MF:** Well move on, I don’t have all day.

 **MC:** Can’t, until you answer the question.

 **MF:** I’m not fucking answering your bullshit question, I’m fucking here on serious business.

 **MC:** I’m going to have to book you for that. Verbally assaulting a Ministry employee while on duty –

 **[[NB.**   **by O. Cauldwell** : minor scuffle in which Flint and Corner drew wands on each other before being subdued by Auror Dunbar, investigation resumed by Dunbar **]]**

 **FD:** Have you, in the past, aided and abetted Death Eaters knowingly and willingly?

 **MF:** No.

 **FD:** Would you say that you endorsed statements such as “I believe that some wizards are more equal than others” and “Muggleborns are inherently incompatible with wizarding society”?

 **MF:** In the past.

 **FD:** Has your father, at any given point, asked you to engage in activities which either directly or indirectly supported the Death Eaters?

 **MF:** Not that I am aware of.

 **FD:** Do you have any statement you wish to make?

 **MF:** Only that if I was a real Death Eater, I wouldn’t have answered any of these questions honestly in the first place – I’d work on your interrogation techniques and procedures if I was you – and secondly, if I was, as personal attache to the muggle PM, I could have assassinated him at any time, y’know?

 **FD:** Thank you for your time Mr Flint.  
  


**Notes:  
** Definitely a terrorist – Michael Corner

Probably not a threat – Fay Dunbar

In all fairness the interrogation was badly handled by Auror Corner, despite his experience. No point setting Flint’s back up for no purpose – Owen Cauldwell

Auror Cauldwell will please refrain from making personal comments about his superiors, especially where his superiors can see them. If he has something to say he can say it to his superiors’ faces rather than sneaking behind their backs – Michael Corner

* * *

Kingsley unfolds the paper and places it on the desk, facing his Senior Advisor.

“I like to think that I am, to all extents and purposes, a patient man, Lucian,” he says, “But it gets tiring when your staff insists on airing their dirty laundry in public _bang in the middle of a national emergency_.”

Lucian Bole glares angrily at the three-inch headline staring insolently up at him from the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ as though his glaring will bend reality and make them form different words.

“With all due respect, Minister,” he says, keeping his voice as calm as possible, “There must be some mistake.”

“A mistake,” Kingsley Shacklebolt crosses his arms and looks sternly at Lucian, “You’re telling me that these photographs, quotes and figures are all forgeries?”

“Yes, Minister,” says Lucian, trying his damnedest not to dig his nails into the varnish of his chair, “Someone,” he licks his lips, “is _obviously_ trying to stir up trouble. Someone who doesn’t like me.”

“Someone,” Kingsley repeats, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

“Someone who has an _interest_ in seeing me gone,” Lucian says meaningfully.

Kingsley frowns. The less than amiable relationship between his Senior and Junior Advisor has not gone unremarked. Dartboards, contrary to their belief, are surprisingly unsubtle and almost always prone to being found.

“Are you saying Finch-Fletchley had something to do with this?”

“I’m not saying he did,” Lucian replies, cautiously, “But I can’t think of anyone else with a vendetta against me and with, you know,” he pauses and coughs discreetly, “ _access_ to the press.”

“Well,” says Kingsley, “We can clear that up very easily, can’t we? _Finch-_ _Fletchley!_ ”

A few moments later Justin opens the door and smiles sunnily at the two of them, “You wanted to see me, Minister?”

“Come in, Justin and have a seat,” says Kingsley, “We need you to clear some things up for us.”

“Oh,” Justin sits down next to Bole, “All right.”

“The Daily Prophet has made some very serious allegations concerning Bole here,” Kingsley pushes the newspaper towards him, “Lucian seems to think that you have something to do with this.”

Justin’s eyes widen and he turns a shade of pink, then red and then purple before he manages to successfully form words.

“I might loathe you, Bole,” he says, with forced calm, “But I would _never_ do this to _anyone_ , not even my _worst_ enemy.”

“ _Please_ , I know you play darts with a board that has my _face_ on it –“

“Everyone has their moments of weakness! I don’t sit around making up rumours about people I hate, to put in the papers – I’m not a bloody Slytherin –“

“As though you know what it’s like to be a Slytherin, _mudblood_ –“

“Enough!”

Both Lucian and Justin flinch.

“You have five minutes, Lucian,” Kingsley says coldly, “To salvage what little is left of your career, apologize to Justin and resign, or else, I will be forced to relieve you of your responsibilities and you can say goodbye to any hope you might have of pursuing a career elsewhere.”

Lucian considers sneering, for a moment, but thinks better of it when he remembers that Kingsley is a Shacklebolt and the Shacklebolts are rather more influential than the Boles are, despite their sodding politics.

He looks from Kingsley – cold but _furious_ – to Justin – pale and shaking slightly in his seat – and mumbles something that _might_ have been “bastards”, but is far too quiet for either of them to catch.

“You have my apologies,” he says stiffly to Justin and turns to Kingsley as though to make some final protest.

“Four minutes,” Kingsley says firmly.

Lucian’s mouth snaps shut and he contents himself with glaring impressively at them before he leaves the room.

“You realize,” says Kingsley, before Justin can leave the room, “This makes you Senior Advisor now.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“These are troubled times.”

Justin, puzzled by this seeming non-sequitur, hesitantly gives his assent as he tries to decipher Kingsley’s meaning.

“We can’t afford any more scandals.”

“No, Minister.”

“Tell Abercrombie to move his things into your office and have him contact Human Resources for his replacement.” he stands up slowly and eyes his Junior – now Senior – Advisor sternly, “If I so much as hear a _whisper_ of your involvement –“

“No, Minister,” says Justin, quickly, light dawning on him, “Certainly not.”

“Good. Congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Justin hastily backs out of the room before Kingsley can have second thoughts.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighs and thinks longingly of the day, eight months away, when he will be able to dump all of these problems on his successor and retire to a nice comfortable villa preferably in Barcelona.

* * *

 **From:**   _W!_  dated 26th August 2014

**SKELETON IN THE CLOSET? OR A GRAVEYARD?**

First Adam Smith, then Cicely Selwyn-Smith – just how many black sheep can one family hold? At least one more, if the formal investigation of the Smith family patriarch for alleged information he may hold about notorious Death Eater Charles Selwyn’s whereabouts is anything to go by. At any rate, we all now know just why Adam Smith was so eager to get rid of Augustus Rookwood. Never let it be said that Hufflepuffs are nothing more than harmless mustelids.

* * *

A man in his mid-thirties in an unassuming but well-tailored suit gets on the train at Charing Cross, changes at Picadilly Circus and then gets off at Green Park. He smiles cheerily right through this entire journey and some of the regulars on this route idly wonder what's made him stop glowering darkly at the world, before moving on to other more inane preoccupations. It is not their business, after all, that this usually grumpy soul should be so unusually cheery today, not when they have other more important things to preoccupy themselves with.

Zacharias Smith, when he finally sinks down on to the couch in his flat on St. James’s Street, kicks off his shoes, removes his copy of the _Sol_ from his bag and surveys his ‘handiwork’ with satisfaction.

 _CONFESSION OF GUILT? SENIOR ADVISOR TO THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC RESIGNS AMIDST SCANDAL OVER MISAPPROPRIATION OF MINISTRY FUNDS_.


	41. The Wixenomist's Special Report

**From:** _The Wixenomist_ , August 24th - 30th, 2014.

**Letters to the editor**

Sir –

Perusing the latest issue of this magazine, I have come to the conclusion that this magazine needs not only a change of place but a change of name. The Taxonomist should be a suitable substitute.

M. Montgomery  
_Cambridgeshire, UK_.  


Sir –

I am humbly beholden to this magazine’s willingness to condescend to believe the veracity of my research which I put forward in _Myths of the Magical Creatures of The World_ , based on the strength of ‘scientific’ evidence gathered in the ‘sixties. It marks a happy departure from the magazine’s regular skepticism towards ethnographic research conducted by magianthropologists. Perhaps we may one day even be cited on our own merits in these pages.

R. Scamander  
_Exmoor, UK_

* * *

**From:** _The Wixenomist_ , August 17th - 23rd, 2014.

**THE TRUTH WILL OUT**   
Researchers in Germany find that a fifty year old study on epidemiology and the nature of magic disproves everything we have ever known about ourselves.   
BERLIN, GERMANY

THE SIXTIES in magical Britain were notable for three things – the rediscovery of Fairy Dust, the Squib Rights protests and the election of the country’s first (and only) muggleborn Minister for Magic. Intellectual renaissance and innovative research, however, were not remotely on the list of things that magical Britain was renowned for, not even including the London  _Collegium_ ’s York Minster experiment and the ‘Ecstatic’ Ice-Drop GloStick tests. Meanwhile in the Department of Mysteries, at the very cutting edge of magical research in Britain, the only upheaval going on was the upheaval in the hearts of the Unspeakables as they watched their archives being rehauled and reorganized under the watchful care of Thaddaeus J. Quincey. Fifty years later as papers lost in the reorganization of the archives resurfaced in Germany, a different sort of upheaval finally came to light and magical Europe was thrown into uproar.

Six months ago, when researchers at the German Ministry’s Forschungsamt received a package purporting to contain the last papers of Unspeakable Caius Rookwood, they were naturally suspicious. Rookwood’s papers had gone missing in the early ‘seventies and had never been recovered despite the concerted efforts of both archivists and Unspeakables, to retrieve his work for further Department research. Official records from the Department of Mysteries blamed this on the archival re-re-organization and the ensuing mess. So when his papers resurfaced, in a package sent to the Magischeforschungsamt by a mysterious Mr John Hope from Manchester City, England, the researchers were inclined to believe that this was a hoax. The accompanying letter, addressed to them by Rookwood’s son, Augustus, did little to allay their suspicions that this was an elaborate practical joke. Caius Rookwood’s opening statements were so startling, it seems, that the head of the department immediately sent the papers to be tested for forgery. It seemed unlikely, after all, that anyone would have made such startling assertions all the way back in the ‘sixties, when anti-muggleborn and anti-magical creature sentiment was  _de rigeur_ and not an exception to the norm.

The tests, however, showed that this was not a forgery – either muggle or magical. After all these years, it seemed, Caius Rookwood’s papers had finally resurfaced, and not from the archives of the Department of Mysteries, but from his son, imprisoned in Azkaban. With the tests all clear, the researchers settled down to the matter of testing the hypotheses that Caius Rookwood had put forward in his paper.

…

For centuries, the western wizarding world has gone to war over the matter of blood purity and magic. Magic set wizarding kind apart from their muggle counterparts and wizarding magic in particular, was in every way superior to the instinctual magic of magical creatures. It followed, naturally, that the rightful rulers of the magical world were purebloods; their purer blood meant that magic had reached its zenith in them and in no one else. Whether purebloods had ever ruled and rightly, is a matter that has been disputed for centuries now to no avail. The conclusions of the German Magischeforschungsamt, however, prove beyond a doubt that for all these centuries we have been looking in the wrong direction. Not only were You-Know-Who and his followers wrong, but they had failed to understand the truth about magic altogether and thus, were utterly misguided in their attempt to establish the might of magic as the source of pureblood power.

…

**The sickening truth**

The conclusions of the two reports prompted McKinnon and Bones to reconsider the apparent contradictions of their own findings – squibs were just as likely to be immune to magical diseases as they were to muggle diseases, with no apparent discernible pattern explaining why this might be so. After months of introspection, during which the two spent time re-examining the assumptions underpinning their research, both Bones and McKinnon concluded that magic was not governed by an either-or trigger as once assumed, but rather by a more complicated series of triggers.

As the researchers in Germany soon discovered as well, this meant that magic was not neatly distributed among those who possessed it (wizards) and those who did not (squibs), but that there were variations even among squibs – demonstrated by the further research of McKinnon and Bones and then tested and confirmed by the researchers. There were, of course, the class of squibs who had no ability to do magic. In addition to them, however, were squibs who could perform a varied range of basic spells, but no more than that, and squibs who could perform only one particular form of magic and not others. It should not have been as much of a surprise as it was to the Department. There have been at least two famous documented cases from the early 20th century, that of [Octavia Yaxley](http://thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com/post/101442869574/i-loved-mummy-and-daddy-but-i-wasnt-special-like) and [Titania Montgomery](http://thepostmodernpottercompendium.tumblr.com/post/103413788404/once-upon-a-time-not-so-very-long-ago-there), of squibs who have been able to perform very particular kinds of magic in very particular circumstances.

None of this research was exciting in itself. A growing body of research dating back to the mid-nineties conclusively demonstrates that the magical abilities of squibs lie along a spectrum and that magic is not the neat on and off switch it was assumed to be. Where McKinnon and Bones’ research differs is in their two hypotheses. The first being that this lack of magic did not deprive squibs of the quality of life magical folk were used to, the second concerning the distribution of squibs through the magical populace. Contrary to the popular assertion that squibs – especially those who possessed less magic than the average squib – were more likely to be found among half-blood families, McKinnon and Bones found that these squibs were equally as likely to be born to pureblood families as they were to be born to half-blood families. Furthermore, they found that squibs who possessed enough magic to allow them to survive werewolf transformations, while they experienced more pain during the transformation because of their lack of magic, were immunized from the anger of the wolf form precisely because of this lack. Similarly, most squibs were found to be less susceptible to both muggle diseases and magical diseases such as levitating sickness. These findings were corroborated by Eileen Prince, a potions expert and researcher on magical diseases with St Mungo’s who was then studying the resistance of squibs to healing potions and their susceptibility to disease.

In short, their research on squibs and squib magic disputes the findings even of recent research on squibs, utterly turning the assumption that while variations in magical ability among squibs existed they were spread through the population in a ‘logical’ manner completely on its head. Framed alongside the other body of research collated and reported in Caius Rookwood’s papers, it is no wonder that Caius Rookwood should have proposed that magical Britain completely reframe the way it thought about magic.

**The wand or the claw?**

Matters grew even more complicated when McKinnon and Bones began comparing notes with the magianthropologist Michael Finnigan in 1965 and squib researcher Millicent Bulstrode I in 1966. Where wix could survive with little to no magic, both Mr Finnigan and Ms Bulstrode found that this was not the case among many of the species of sentient magical creatures. While Goblin squibs were not entirely uncommon though far rarer than among wixen populations, squibs among other species were virtually non-existent and even those squibs which existed possessed a degree of magic which rendered them virtually indistinguishable from their cousins, except for the fact that they could not perform higher-level wand magic.

Magic, it seemed, was the very life-force of these creatures. Veelas, merfolk and even giants, Finnigan and Bulstrode found, could not survive without magic. Merfolk required magic to survive in their environment. The bodily structure and frame of Veelas, vampires and centaurs, it seems, required magic enough to allow their offspring to survive the process of being birthed in the first place. In the case of giants, magic was found to be necessary for their children to thrive and survive into adulthood. Without any magic, their offspring were doomed to die in the womb, during the birth process or at a very young age – magic was as necessary to their survival as the blood flowing in their veins.

This research, confined only to magical beings with some level of genetic similarity to wix, barely scratches the surface concerning the magical abilities of sentient magical creatures. Preliminary studies by researchers in Germany indicate that fae species too require a baseline level of magic in order to survive. However, even this added research accounts for less than a tenth of all magical creature species and some would argue, explains magical ability in a framework that is still anthropocentric in its formulation. It is perhaps a fault of ours that we have grown so inured to equating human-ness with the possession of magic that we have failed to study the magic of so many of the species we come into constant contact with such as house-elves and goblins.

…

In the ancient tale of the First Sorceress and her son, cast out into the great cold, magic comes from the Sorceress’ words – and it is with those same words that her son performs the First Magic, setting fire to the logs in the cave. It is this tale which reassures us of our superiority. This, at least, has been the interpretation most commonly touted in the academic literature on mythology. In light of this research, however, it falls apart and tells us three things instead – firstly, that magical creatures had always possessed magic; it was never bestowed on them by any wix; secondly that it is an expression of will and not centred in linguistic superiority or the power of wands and lastly, that we are as guilty as the myths included in Mr Scamander’s series on the myths of magical creatures insist we are.

Have we believed in anything approaching the truth? Both history and now, research, suggest that we have been widely off the mark even in our recent past. If Mr Rookwood’s research is indeed right, then perhaps Salazar Slytherin was right only about one thing – wands really do weaken the mind and make wix lazy.


	42. The calm before the storm

Malfoy,

How are the Malfoy farms doing? I heard England had an uncommonly good crop this year. And an unusual rise in crop exports; ten times the projected growth, I’m told. Bit unusual don’t you think?

How much spare cash do you keep in your safe, by the way? If I were you, I’d make sure my safe was well-filled.

Yours,  
Blaise.

Zabini,

Maybe you should get a job with  _Quidnunc?_  composing their cryptic crossword. I’m sure they’d be delighted to have someone as abstruse as you working for them.

Yours,  
Draco.

* * *

From: _The Daily Prophet_ , page 33, 1st September 2014.

 **GALLEON RALLIES AS GRINGOTTS STRIKE CALLED OFF**  
_By a staff reporter,  
_ _London_

The British Galleon rose ten points today when the Gringotts strike, now on its third week, was called off today morning by the head goblin at Gringotts and the bank reopened for business as usual. It is uncertain whether this marks a final end to the strike, or if this is merely to last until the head goblin gives further notice. Analysts believe, however, that it is unlikely that the goblins of Gringotts will go on strike again within the next few months, pointing to the dramatic fall in the value of the British Galleon - a fall which has negatively impacted both wixen and non-wixen folk alike. In addition to this, the probable passing of Mrs Granger-Weasley’s bill for the Welfare of Sentient Magical Beings during the winter session of the Wizengamot should appease potential strikers and deter them from going on strike again in the future.

* * *

On the 1st of September, the goblins called off their strike and Gringotts reopened its doors for business, to the relief of magical Britain’s various farming families, just in time for them to sell their autumn harvest on the international market.

In his office in  _The Wixenomist_ ’s London Headquarters, the magazine’s Finance Editor, Zacharias Smith frowned over reports which lauded the unprecedented export deals on Britain’s autumn crop. Exports which, in his opinion, all seemed to be suspiciously concentrated around a number of very recently established firms in the Eurasian Steppes – all of which resulted in dead ends when further investigated.

The Editor-In-Chief, Augustus Blythely agreed that this was suspicious indeed, but demurred from publishing anything which was remotely fearmongering in nature without conclusive proof one way or the other. _The Wixenomist_  did not indulge in baseless speculation, he reminded his Finance Editor, and that, it seemed, was that.

Mr Borgin, strolling down Diagon Alley to his store to open shop for the day on the 5th of October, was horrified to find Finlay Montmorency sprawled on the doorstep of his shop, his eyes glazed and mouth wide open – a trickle of blood dribbling down his cheek – and a rowan stake through his heart. Someone had carved the letters _BNB_  on his forehead. It was a horrid sight and it made Mr Borgin, despite his familiarity with the kinds of gory effects dark objects could wreak on people, feel quite ill in his stomach. He sent the Aurors an anonymous tip, hastily shifted as much of his wares as he could to the back room to avoid investigation and then made himself a cup of tea to settle his nerves. 

They never discovered who murdered Finlay Montmorency.

Over the next few weeks, the average amount withdrawn from Gringotts by the average Wixenomist employee rose from 10 galleons to 50 galleons.

Michael Corner, picking up on Zacharias Smith’s hints opened a bank account with Barclays and deposited a total of two thousand pounds, drawn from his account at Gringotts on the 8th of October.

Drusus Fawley folded the last of his letters ( _We are pleased to acknowledge the receipt of …._ ) and sat back with a sigh of relief. The last of the Fawley autumn harvest had finally been shipped off and received at the other end and now they had at least four months before the winter crop started coming in. This was the fifteenth of October.

Ten days later, an unfortunate incident in the Trans-European Floo Network led to the destruction of a huge part of a vegetable import from France. Incidents on the Trans-European Floo Network had been on the rise of late and not even the closest examinations made by specialists from the Department of Magical Transport, or the Department of International Magical Cooperation – or even the _Unspeakables_  – revealed what the cause for all these incidents were.

It was put down, in the end, to mischance born of age and magical decay and the Department of Magical Transportation began drawing up plans for a new Trans-European Floo Network.

On the first of November, all across Europe, the goblins abandoned their mines, shut the doors of their banks and went on strike.


End file.
